


Sanctuary

by Tiresias



Series: Sanctuary [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Cuddling, Emotional Trauma, F/M, I promise, Lots of Cuddling, Lots of it, Mr. Scary Face, Post CATWS, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, Violence, all god's children got problems, but happy endings, recovery fic, the avengers show up eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 38
Words: 139,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4293468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiresias/pseuds/Tiresias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events in DC, Bucky needs a place to lay low, recover, and figure out what he needs to do next.  Lily is the lucky girl whose house he breaks into when he's too hungry and tired to keep running.</p><p>'I debated just locking myself in my room and hiding under the bed until whoever it was went away but as a devotee at the altar of Insomnia I knew how time could stretch almost infinitely when you were waiting for something to ‘not’ happen and I was tired of waiting and would rather have a harrowing life experience than just sit there panicking in my bathrobe.<br/>What can I say?  I was exhausted and making bad decisions.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know some of the Marvel Universe arcs but as far as this is concerned I do what I want. :D

For most of my life I’ve been a pretty light sleeper. My parents never needed to shake me or shout at me to wake me up—no, just their hand on the doorknob to my room was enough for that. Not like my sister. Ugh. She practically needed a live brass band playing next to her head before she woke up. But in recent months you could say that my sleep habits didn’t so much as resemble a ‘light sleeper’ as an insomniac. As soon as I’d manage to doze off a tree outside my window would shake in the wind and I’d wake up. Or maybe I’d hear a siren five miles away. Or a stupid bird who was far too happy to wake up that morning. It didn’t much matter what it was: I was awake and would likely be so for the rest of the night.

So when I woke up to a small scraping noise I wasn’t all that surprised. Everything had been waking me up lately and this could have been anything. But then I heard my fridge open and that’s a distinctive enough sound even down one flight of stairs and through several doors. No one had cause to be opening my fridge at 3 in the morning. Not anymore.

I listened closely to see if I could hear anything else: nothing. Whoever it was was really quiet. Or else not all that interested in anything but the contents of my refrigerator. Ha. That’s a likely reason to break into someone’s house.

I tried to remember where I put my cell phone last and nearly had a panic attack when I realized I’d left it in my purse downstairs. In the kitchen. I’d disconnected the landline two months ago so there was no other way to call for help. My neighbors weren’t exactly close by so no help there either. I had an old rifle at the top of my closet but that’s not a good weapon for close quarters. There was a brief moment I screamed at the universe in my head for leaving me here alone in this house with no one to help me (three months ago everything would have been all right, why can’t it be three months ago?) but I stomped on that pretty quickly. Screaming—even internally—wasn’t going to help me.

I debated just locking myself in my room and hiding under the bed until whoever it was went away but as a devotee at the altar of Insomnia I knew how time could stretch almost infinitely when you were waiting for something to ‘not’ happen and I was tired of waiting and would rather have a harrowing life experience than just sit there panicking in my bathrobe.

What can I say? I was exhausted and making bad decisions.

So I grabbed one of my knives for insurance and did my best to walk quietly down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

Now, I know you know the man I’m talking about. Strong, fast, clever, ruthless, and above all aware of his surroundings. So I have no idea how I managed to sneak up on him. But I did.

I peeked around the edge of the kitchen door, the only light coming from inside the fridge just enough to illuminate a scary looking man gulping down my milk. It’s odd what thoughts go through your head sometimes and at that moment I thought, ‘Hey, I was going to use that milk for lunch tomorrow.’ Which made me slightly annoyed. I’d been looking forward to my homemade mac and cheese and now no matter what happened with this guy I’d have to go shopping. Which meant wearing real clothes and leaving the house to interact with people. Shudder.

Did I mention I was sleep deprived and not thinking clearly? Because this was not the moment for being annoyed that someone drank the last of the milk. 

‘Excuse me—‘ was all I got out before he whirled, tossing the milk carton at me while I shrieked and tried to duck only to find myself pushed against the doorframe with a knife against my throat. I still couldn’t see him clearly in the dim light but his dark-smudged eyes were clearly calculating ways to kill me. I also ran a few calculations of my own involving my knife which I had miraculously not dropped but even as I shifted involuntarily his knife pricked a little harder at my throat and I decided that my knife was worse than useless.

Seconds ticked by on the kitchen clock and I became aware that he was, well, not shaking but perhaps vibrating with more intensity than I wanted from a man with a knife at my throat. His eyes still held mine and I could see him trying to back down from whatever precipice he was standing on. He inhaled slowly and pulled his knife away from my throat even as he tightened his other hand on my shoulder where he’d been gripping me since he shoved me into the wall.

‘Drop the knife.’ His voice was gravelly with exhaustion but I wasn’t going to push my luck. I dropped my knife. It wasn’t doing me any good anyway. He breathed deeply again, clearly trying to control himself. ‘Did you call anyone?’ 

‘No.’ I said, before realizing that maybe lying would have been a better choice. Stupid honesty. If he thought someone was coming he might have left. Or just killed you, whispered a small sensible and very scared voice. 

He nodded and his jaw clenched as he drew himself back a bit, while still keeping a firm grip on me. My eyes had adjusted to the dim light and I could see he had longish unkempt hair around a face that could definitely be described as ‘brooding.’ He had several layers of clothing on and I could see underneath his jacket something that looked like a leather vest. Surprisingly his left hand was cold against my skin but he was clearly exhausted and starving and that’s enough to give anyone cold hands. 

‘What do you want?’ Maybe it was a stupid question under the circumstances but I always like to be sure of things.

Surprisingly he seemed to have difficulty answering it. He had a strange expression on his face that shifted from one emotion to another rapidly like he was experiencing them all at once and wasn’t sure which one to believe. 

And again, maybe this was just me acting stupidly, but his confusion immediately made me feel better. Not a lot better, but a bit. Because if he didn’t know what to do then at least he hadn’t broken into my house to rape and kill me. Both of which would be easy things for him to accomplish at this moment. 

‘Hey, do you want to sit down?’ I asked. ‘I don’t know about you but I’d feel a lot better sitting down.’ He nodded and I tipped my head toward the kitchen table. He let me go but still followed close enough behind me to keep me from causing any trouble. Not that I was thinking about causing him trouble. Geesh, the man was solid steel and had a grip like iron. My shoulder was going to be bruised for a week at least. 

We sat. At this angle the fridge light silhouetted him and I couldn’t see his face at all. That made me nervous. I like being able to see what people are thinking. I swallowed and then motioned to a wall switch nearby. ‘Can I turn a little light on?’ I could just see him nod. The light had a dimmer switch so I turned it up slowly and stopped when he seemed to wince from the light a little. It was okay, there was enough light now. 

Now that I could see him clearly the marks of exhaustion were more noticeable. He was holding it together but I could tell he was only a short step away from tired-crazy. I’d been close to that a couple times. It hadn’t been any fun for me and I wasn’t someone possibly on the run or who knows what this guy was. And as I’d been staring at him he hadn’t stopped staring at me and I started to feel uncomfortable in the way you do as an introvert who’s been caught looking too long at someone.

I looked toward the fridge and saw the detritus of several of my leftover dishes—now empty of course—and the one apple that I had bought out of a sense of guilt and obligation. Man, I really was going to have to go shopping. He looked at the fridge for a moment too and when he looked back at me I could see a flicker of what on a more expressive person might have been called shame. Or maybe discomfort. Whatever it was it gave me something to talk about and I was feeling it was high time we talked about something.

‘Are you still hungry? I know I didn’t have much in the fridge but I could make you something else. If you’re still hungry.’ Great. That was just great. Don’t ask him to leave, ask if you can make him a sandwich. You’re awesome at this ‘getting your house broken into’ thing. Just awesome.

He looked uncomfortable and his head shook back and forth a little, but it wasn’t a negative shake, more like a ‘I’m trying to understand what is going on in my head’ shake. One of his hands clenched and I could almost hear his bones creak. God save me what have I gotten myself into? Who would have thought that asking a man if he wanted to eat something would be fraught with so much indecision and unhappiness?

‘Yes.’ Hearing him speak after the tension filled silence made me jump. Which made him jump, only in a more purposeful way that bespoke of trying to kill me if I moved wrong. I put up my hands in a hopefully non-threatening gesture and tried to smile. It wasn’t too hard. I was starting to get the feeling that this guy had a lot of troubles hanging on his back and if I stayed calm and moved slowly we’d both get out of this without doing something we’d regret. 

‘Okay then. I still have some eggs. Do you like scrambled eggs?’ 

‘I—‘ His face twisted into an odd pained expression. ‘I eat eggs.’ It was almost like he was asking for reassurance, like what he was really saying was, ‘Do I eat eggs?’

I don’t know, guy, do you? And if you don’t know that, goodness only knows what happened to you. 

I stand, slowly. I walk to the fridge, slowly. I even make the eggs slowly, trying to make sure he can see what my hands are doing at all times. It seems to relax him slightly and that’s a good thing in my book. So what if I don’t know what’s going on or what I’m really doing? I’ve always prided myself on my observational skills and my intuition—let’s see if I can make good on that.

I pour the eggs on a plate and get a fork out of the drawer. Halfway back to the table I notice him staring at the fork in my hand. He looks ready to fight. I put the fork on the plate, handle facing towards him as I put it down on the table. My hostess instincts kick in (thanks so much mom) and I turn away automatically to get him something to drink. Fast as a snake he reaches up and grabs my arm. I again make that small calming movement with my hands.

‘Do you want a glass of water? I was going to get a cup.’ He nods and lets me go.

I get two cups and grab the cooling pitcher of water out of the now pretty much empty fridge. I sit down and pour for both of us and slowly pass him his. I give him a puzzled look because he hasn’t started eating. ‘It’s okay, you can eat,’ I tell him. Apparently that’s all he needs because half of that plate of eggs disappears in less than ten seconds. I blink. ‘When was the last time you ate?’

‘Three days ago.’ Another quarter of the plate disappears.

‘No wonder you’re hungry.’ The award for inane conversation goes to….me! I guess I sounded a little surprised because he looked up at me then down at his plate and I could see a gear turning in his head that maybe he should be eating slower. He slows down and I start feeling better.  
Good thing number one: I’m still alive.  
Good thing number two: I just fed someone (hospitality is practically genetic in my family. Or at least it was)

Good thing number three: I probably just saved someone from starving to death. Having him break into my house can’t be called a good thing, but I’d rather he eat my food than have him die. 

Good thing number four: He won’t die from choking on my eggs because he was eating too fast.

In fact, he’d slowed right down, just one or two spoonfuls left. The back of my neck started to crawl. Huh? His fork scraped slowly across the plate and I realized what was wrong. It wasn’t just that he was moving ‘slower,’ it was how he was moving. How he was breathing. A couple seconds ago the man eating my eggs was what I would call dangerous. He was tired, hungry, off kilter, scared, and definitely ready to kill me if I made a wrong move.

The man who finished my eggs was a killer. The way he moved the way he breathed—it was all different. There was an inexorable quality to his movements and his silence and I saw it in his eyes when he sat stiffly back in his chair and looked up at me. And it wasn’t like he was planning on killing me. But I could tell that this man—this man wouldn’t need a reason to kill. This man followed orders or his own natural law and thought no more of killing someone than of scraping the last eggs off his plate. It was like seeing Death in human form right there in my kitchen. 

I started to breathe really fast. I mean really fast. I could hear my breath and I know he could hear it too because of the way he looked at me and before I said that I knew very well how time could stretch to infinity but I knew nothing. The kitchen clock ticked the seconds and those seconds were the longest of my entire life. 

Then something changed. I don’t know what. It wasn’t a noise or something I said or did—I was frozen like February icicle—but something changed and the man who ate my eggs was back. And more—I could tell it took effort for him to come back; he had fought to come back. 

I tried to slow my breathing down. ‘Did…did you like the eggs?’  
He looked confused then glanced down at the empty plate. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his forehead as he rubbed the front of it. ‘I—‘ He abruptly blanched and grabbed at his mouth while he ran for the sink. He was heaving for a long time.

I grabbed his glass and dampened a napkin in the water as I walked over to him. He dry-heaved into the sink as I stood off to the side and waited for him to come up for air. When he did I handed him his glass. He stared at it blank-faced. 

‘You should drink some of that.’ Now he was looking at me but there was no comprehension behind his eyes. ‘The water—you’ll feel a little better. Well, you will if you rinse your mouth out first.’ My mystery man looked back at his glance then took a sip mechanically, swished it around, then spit it out. ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now drink some of it.’ He did. Again, like he’d reached some place beyond thinking where directions were necessary. I tried to hand him the damp napkin but he didn’t seem to understand. So I lifted it to his face. Now that he understood. My wrist was abruptly shackled in his grip but I got the feeling it was an automatic gesture, and not one with any spirit. 

‘It’s okay,’ I tried to sooth him. ‘It’s okay, look, it’s just a napkin…’ It was suddenly not okay when I realized that the left hand he was holding me with was encased in metal. His jacket sleeve had slid up and I could see the metal went partially up his forearm too. I couldn’t see where it ended. Right. A metal gauntlet. That’s not weird or creepy at all. 

But he let go of my hand and I couldn’t let myself be a coward enough not to do what I’d been intending to do, which was wipe his forehead. So I did. His eyes held mine the entire time as he held himself braced against my sink and I could see he didn’t have much strength left. He was about five minutes away from passing out and it was then I realized that I wasn’t going to ask him to leave. No, I was going to make up the guest bed for him and tell him he could stay the night. What’s more, I was going to get up early and go shopping so we had some more food in the house. Utter insanity. This guy was bad news. He was obviously unbalanced and deadly and the last sort of person I should offer to help. 

‘Do you want to stay the night?’ I heard myself ask. ‘I’ll make up the guest bed. You’ll be safe here.’ He just swayed silently above my sink. So I smiled tiredly at how ridiculous this was and motioned with my head for him to follow me. He did. We went down into the basement which is actually quite a nice place. Bed, bath, and its very own direct exit to the outdoors. I had the feeling he’d want that. 

Now, maybe this was a very bad idea. Maybe the killer I saw was the person who’d wake up the next morning. I probably shouldn’t be trying to help him.

But I know a little something about people. Not much, but a little. And the man who had sat there and ate my eggs was a good man. I know, I know, I’m delusional and over tired. But that’s the truth. He was clearly fighting an internal battle and it mattered to me that he be given a chance. Even if he wasn’t as good as I wanted to believe, I’m always on the side of people who are trying to be a better person than who they were born to be, or who the world made them be. 

Maybe it all comes down to the fact that he was a man who needed to hide and I understood that. Because hiding is exactly what I was doing.

I left him sitting on the bed after showing him where the light switches were and I went back to the kitchen to clean up some spilt milk.


	2. Chapter 2

When I woke up the next morning it was to two surprises: 

One, I had actually managed to fall asleep.

Two, I had somehow forgotten to ask scary stranger man his name.

Maybe that’s not so surprising. I wasn’t exactly at the top of my game last night. Today however would go better. Right.

I’m not the sort of person to bounce out of bed. At least, not when I don’t have to. Since quitting my job three months ago I’d fallen into the habit of just relaxing when I woke up and thinking about what I was going to do with my day. Usually that consisted of reading, or watching seasons worth of tv shows, or arguing with myself about whether or not to shower that day but hey. It was always nice to have a plan.

Today the shower argument didn’t last long since I knew I needed to leave the house and go food shopping. There was a faint hope that my scary stranger had just left this morning but even so I still needed food. Fortunately my hygiene hadn’t deteriorated to the point of not doing my laundry so I had clean clothes to wear. Barely.

While I showered I couldn’t help but think about last night and what might happen today. Who was this guy? What had happened to him? Please let it be the nicer version of him that wakes up. What does he eat? Does he like pancakes? I want pancakes. Mmm, pancakes.

I eventually concluded that my mind was doing its best to distract me with thoughts of pancakes to make me stop obsessing over Mr. Scary Face as I decided to call him for lack of a better name. I did my best to let it. Nothing I could do about it now. Oh god. 

Putting on the last of my clean clothes I crept down my own stairs, heart pounding at the thought of meeting Mr. Scary Face in my kitchen again. It was a disappointing relief to find the kitchen empty. I very briefly entertained the thought of checking the basement to see if he was there at all but I chickened out. Food shopping sounded far more attractive at the moment even despite the necessary leaving-the-house-and-interacting-with-people thing.

Out of force of habit I left a note on the counter telling Mr. Scary Face where I went. 

The nearest supermarket wasn’t exactly close but the drive gave me time to seek a calm center in myself. I sought in vain. I was incredibly jumpy when I pulled into the parking lot and nearly ran some guy over when he darted out in front of me. I honked, he gestured rudely, and I did my best to keep my heart from jumping out of my chest. 

Once inside I moved rapidly up and down the aisles dumping things into my cart. I don’t like to take my time when shopping. I usually know what I want and unless there’s a people jam I can get out in under half an hour. Today was one of those lucky days. As I piled bags upon bags into my car I snorted to myself at the sheer amount of food I’d indulged in. Two whole chickens, several partial chickens, beef (I don’t like it but Mr. Scary Face probably does), assorted vegetables, ten pounds of yukon gold potatoes (they were on sale!), bread, peanut butter, jelly, any type of dairy product you can think of, eggs (lots of them), ice cream, brownie mix, flour, sugar, walnuts, raisins, chocolate chips, oats, brown sugar, pretzels, chips, pizza rolls, pirogues, tomato soup, two types of rice, pasta, and two giant bags of reeses peanut butter cups. What?

I always feel more cheerful after shopping. I rather adore food and I get really excited at the thought of eating all the food I just bought. This kept me in a good mood all the way home and even throughout the process of unloading my car. Alas, the good mood didn’t stick around to help me put away all the food. Traitor. 

As I was trying to fit just one more thing into an overflowing cabinet I looked around my kitchen and noticed that it was well, pretty dirty. I’m not bad at keeping up with washing my dishes but my countertops hadn’t been well and truly cleaned for—

Take a guess.

Mr. Scary Face still hadn’t made an appearance so I decided that a full kitchen clean was in order. 

But only after I made myself lunch. Can’t go to work on an empty stomach, can I?

I’ve never really enjoyed cleaning. My mom was always a bear for it. The whole house got a once over every week, and once a year everything (and I do mean everything) was scrubbed down to within an inch of its life. I admired her determination but could never match it myself. I’m a fan of comfortable clutter and it doesn’t freak me out if a dish sits in the sink for a day or two. But the legacy of a mother like that was knowing how to clean well, even if I didn’t want to. 

It was close to two when I finished and I still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Mr. Scary Face. Maybe he had left. Maybe he was still sleeping. Maybe he was lurking just behind the basement door and planning to kill me for how badly I had sung ‘Mr. Roboto’ while cleaning. 

Having an active imagination isn’t very helpful sometimes. 

I started chopping vegetables to make chicken soup. I was NOT avoiding going into the basement to check for Mr. Scary Face. I mean, I had to make dinner. Right?

Ha.

After I got the soup going I couldn’t delay any longer. There’s only so much cowardice I can accept from myself and I’d reached the end of today’s allowance. Besides, I had to go downstairs to put things in the pantry. And it was my house. My basement.

God I’m such a coward.

I did my best to tiptoe down the stairs while carrying five bags of groceries but it was hardly my quietest moment. There were no lights on down there so I assumed he was still sleeping which made a certain amount of sense. He’d looked so tired last night I wouldn’t be surprised if he slept for a full 24 hours. 

Escaping back upstairs and feeling greatly relieved I grabbed a bag of the peanut butter cups and ran up to my bedroom to binge watch Doctor Who in ‘safety.’

Three episodes and a quarter bag of peanut butter cups later I heard a slight noise from downstairs. Not much, but it could have been a footstep. Mr. Scary Face was awake.

My immediate reaction was to feel nervous. The reaction that followed close behind however is probably best summed up with the words, ‘Oh please don’t touch anything I just cleaned and organized everything and I’d better get down there to make sure you don’t.’

Once again my priorities are astonishing.

I remembered just in time not to burst down the stairs (move slowly, don’t get killed) and for the second time in 24 hours I entered my kitchen to find Mr. Scary Face drinking my milk straight out of the bottle. 

That was going to have to stop.

I’d done my best to shuffle my feet a little to give him warning so he didn’t throw the milk at me again. Thank God. I’d just cleaned up everything and I didn’t want to do that again for at least a week. Oh who am I kidding it was probably going to be at least a month.

He lowered the milk slowly and although his face was tight with nerves he didn’t look as bad as he had last night. Not to say he looked great—the man could use a shower that was for sure.

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Good morning. Well, afternoon.’ The scintillating conversationalist strikes again. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘How long?’ Bit of a non sequitur, but okay.

‘Um, well, about twelve hours? If you fell asleep right after I left you. You looked pretty tired.’ Mr. Scary face didn’t respond. He just stood there holding the milk with the refrigerator still open. I crossed over to the cup cabinet and took one out and filled it with water at the sink. I slid it gently across the center island to him. He looked at it then at me. ‘You should probably drink some water. I don’t know if your system can handle milk right now.’ He jerkily put the milk back in the fridge and closed the door. He kept his eyes on me as he drank half of the water down in one go. I thought a smile might be in order. A relaxed ‘this is completely normal for me what do you mean I feel perfectly okay with all of this weirdness’ sort of smile. I think he might have smiled back but it could have just been one of his assortment of grimaces.

‘Are you hungry? I’m making soup for dinner but it still needs to cook a bit. How about some crackers? And tea, do you like tea? I bet your systems’ still a little off.’ I get some crackers out of the cupboard and slide them over to him. He puts his water down and slowly starts to eat crackers. Progress. At least he’s not as jumpy as he was last night. He’s still Mr. Scary Face but it’s like the threat level has moved down from ‘Kill everything that moves,’ to ‘Watch closely and then maybe kill things.’ I can live with that.

I put water on to boil and in the absence of anything resembling an opinion from Mr. Scary Face I pick some mint tea from the scads of tea still left over. Herbal, non-caffeinated. A safe choice, I hope. An awkward couple minutes pass wherein I stand next to the please-boil-faster-teapot, and he lurks near the refrigerator with the diminishing box of crackers. When the water finally boils I pour it over the teabag.

‘Do you want any honey or sugar with that?’ I ask as I pass it to him. 

He seems a little surprised, surprised enough that he actually speaks. ‘I like sugar.’ Slight pause, ‘Please.’

Ooh, he has manners! This is looking better all the time. 

Isn’t it amazing what little details we use to make ourselves feel better? We’re all crazy, I swear we are.

The sugar is on the table. I get him a spoon and wave him over. He shovels one spoonful in his tea, hesitates, and I get the impression he’s waiting for me to object. When I don’t, he shovels three more spoonfuls in quickly then backs away from the table while stirring his tea. We lean against opposite ends of the kitchen. He takes a sip of his tea.

Oh my god. An actual smile crosses his lips. It’s small and easily missed but his entire face just relaxes and even his eyes look happy for a moment. I think he likes sugar. The tea disappears even faster than the crackers. When he puts the empty mug down he looks like he could go back to sleep for another twelve hours. Which is probably why he turns away without saying a word and heads back down the basement stairs. 

You’re welcome Mr. Scary Face.

And as I hear the door close behind him I kick myself mentally for forgetting to ask his name. Again. Well, maybe he’ll want dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn’t make it to dinner. Which was a pity because the soup was amazing and at the last minute I’d decided to make matzoh balls to go with it. And brownies for dessert because brownies. But there wasn’t a single peep from Mr. Scary Face downstairs so I ate by myself.

When I’d cleaned up the kitchen and started putting everything into leftover dishes I made sure a personal sized one was filled and put at the front of the fridge with the note: ‘Eat Me! I’m soup’ on it. And because I was writing notes I stuck another on the milk carton which read ‘If you want to drink me, use the cup on the counter.’

Maybe that was a little passive aggressive of me but I know if I didn’t do something he’d just drink straight out of the carton again. Not in my house, Mr. Scary Face. We use cups here. Or we stick our faces directly under the faucet to get a drink of water but that’s not the same thing at all so it doesn’t count.

I went up to bed and made further inroads on the peanut butter cups while continuing my Doctor Who marathon. For hours I watched the Doctor save civilizations across the galaxy while somehow always managing to trust the untrustworthy and bring the best out of the worst of people. It made me wonder what the Doctor would do about Mr. Scary Face. Probably something not too dissimilar from what I was doing—only with more aliens and running around. Which made me feel better for two reasons: one, that the Doctor would approve of my actions (What? He’s a great role model and you can’t prove he doesn’t exist), and two, that there were no aliens and no running. No matter how much I want to run away with the Doctor I’m not much of a runner. Asthma really cuts down things like that.

When I finally turned off Doctor Who it was two in the morning and I still hadn’t heard Mr. Scary Face moving around downstairs. He must still have been sleeping and right now that sounded like a good idea to me. The stress of the last 24 hours—really? Only 24?—had caught up with me and was reminding my body that sleep was not only greatly encouraged but absolutely necessary.

I barely had time to puzzle over Mr. Scary Face’s real name before I fell asleep.

I know I mentioned before that I’ve been having trouble sleeping, but that night I slept like a rock. Albeit a rock that only felt like sleeping for six hours. Still a little short of what I used to get on a regular basis, but hey, progress is still progress.

A solid six hours of sleep was definitely something to celebrate in my book so after a pleasant internal debate about breakfast options I settle on pancakes. With chocolate chips. Oh yeah. I know how to live.

I made sure I dressed fully before going downstairs, knowing there was a distinct possibility I’d meet Mr. Scary Face at some point. He couldn’t keep sleeping forever, and while my pajamas are perfectly decent I’d feel a lot more comfortable facing him in jeans.

Mr. Scary Face wasn’t in the kitchen but the cup I’d left out for him had a small trace of milk at the bottom of it. I smiled. Progress. I checked the fridge for the soup I’d left him: the leftover dish was empty, but it still sat where I’d put it. Hmm. Maybe in my next note I’ll ask him to leave dirty dishes in the sink. 

About halfway into making the pancakes I heard him climbing the stairs. When I saw him I immediately felt nervous and off-balance. He had an intensity about him that fortunately seemed to be more focused inwards than on me. If a man like that truly focused on anything I think it would die of fright. I certainly would. 

I was also struck by how much better—and worse—he looked. His nearly 30 hours of sleep made him look almost human again. His eyes were still wary but the depth of exhaustion clouding them (and his judgment) was gone. Not to say he looked at all normal: I was disturbed to see that the metal gauntlet on his left hand reached all the way up his arm at least as far as his t-shirt sleeve. So…not a gauntlet. That’s a little bit freaky. 

But focusing on something aside from his weird metal arm; the man desperately needed a shower. His hair was lank and all clumpy and even from four feet away he smelled a little whiffy. I wasn’t exactly going to rag on him for his poor hygiene skills, but the man was going to shower today even if I had to put the shampoo in his hands myself.

Ha. Right. I couldn’t even ask him his name, let alone insist that he do something. My success with the milk was contingent upon me leaving him a note—hardly a confrontational move. Maybe I’ll ease into that over pancakes.

I was about to speak when to my surprise he spoke first.

‘Good morning.’ His voice was still a touch gravelly but it was lighter in tone than I expected. Silly Lily. Just because he looks dark and scary doesn’t mean his voice should be.

‘Good morning,’ I smile back. Are we on speaking terms now? Oh I hope so. ‘Do you want some pancakes?’ Mr. Scary Face walked over to the table and sat facing me which I guess was his way of saying ‘Yes please I’d love some pancakes thank you so much.’ You could say his silence was very eloquent. Or that I was delusional. Either way he still got a plate full of pancakes.

He started digging into them right away but after the first mouthful he paused as if confused by the taste. I felt nervous. I’m a good cook and there was absolutely nothing wrong with my pancakes but I didn’t want Mr. Scary Face to dislike them and therefore me. There was a peculiar tension that ran through the both of us then; him, trying to figure out the taste in his mouth, and me hoping I wouldn’t die for cooking inadequate pancakes. I nearly jumped when he finally spoke.

‘Do you have syrup?’ He spoke slowly as if trying to confirm each word was the word he wanted to say. I nearly died of relief. Halleluia. He was a syrup man. I got the syrup out of the fridge and put it next to him.

‘It’s the real stuff,’ I said. ‘The taste is worth it, I always thought.’

He slowly drizzled a little on top of his pancakes before looking at me. His expression reminded me of the other night when he’d put four spoonfuls of sugar into his tea and I started to suspect that Mr. Scary Face had a major sweet tooth. ‘Go on,’ I urged. ‘Use as much as you want.’ 

His pancakes were now swimming in syrup. He ate another bite and there was that small yet magical smile, the one he’d gotten after drinking his absurdly sweetened tea. He spoke then.

‘Thank you. This is…I couldn’t remember…but I knew something was missing. Just a flash that something wasn’t right. That usually only happens when—‘ he cut himself off and shoveled a forkful of pancakes into his mouth with a determined air. Despite the abrupt stop it was more than I’d heard out of him since we met almost two days ago. What had happened to him that he couldn’t remember that syrup went with pancakes? It started to occur to me that he might have some form of memory loss but at this point that was just icing on a scary cake.

‘It’s all right,’ I finally said. ‘I don’t always have syrup on my pancakes which is why I forgot to bring it out.’ Great, blame yourself for Mr. Scary Face’s bad memory. I’m sure your doormat tendencies are just what’s needed right now.

Oh, would you shut up?

Make me.

It’s a good thing Mr. Scary face couldn’t hear my internal monologue. I might have been a little worried about his sanity but my own was far from certain sometimes.

‘I’m Lily, by the way. You’ve been in my house for nearly two days and it took me this long to introduce myself.’ I shake my head in what hopefully looks like self-deprecating amusement. Mr. Scary Face stared at me while chewing a large mouthful of pancakes. I’m getting used to his stares, though, and this one has a ‘I’m deciding what to tell you,’ feel to it. It’s possibly the least threatening stare of his that I’ve experienced.

‘Lily.’ He says. Nothing else. I know what he’s doing, he’s trying to sidestep giving me a name. No way. Not unless he wants me to start calling him Mr. Scary Face aloud.

‘What should I call you?’ I forge bravely ahead ready to run away at the first sign of trouble. His eyes narrow. Oops, trouble. ‘Look, I just need something to call you. Anything. Well, maybe not anything. Bookshelf’s a bit weird for a name and I don’t—‘ I manage to stop myself from rambling but he almost looks amused. Or maybe confused.

Mr. Soon-hopefully-not-to-be-Scary-Face considers my question while chewing manfully large bites of pancakes sopping with syrup. There’s an edge to him now that there wasn’t before, like his fight or flight radar just kicked up a notch. His right hand steadily brings the fork to and from his mouth but I notice his left hand tightening into a fist and I again wonder what happened to him if this is the response to such a question.

‘Bucky.’

He looked like he regretted saying it as soon as it was out of his mouth but he didn’t take it back. He just breathed deeply, relaxed his tight metal fist, and repeated, ‘My name is Bucky.’ His eyes sought mine as if he expected me to make something of it.

Well I wouldn’t have pegged you as a ‘Bucky’ Mr. Scary Face. 

‘Hello, Bucky. It’s nice to meet you.’ Insert pleased smile here.

‘Is it?’ Bucky’s having none of it.

Can’t blame him for not believing me, but I’m surprised he wants to pierce the polite illusion. 

‘Well, we’re both alive, so yes.’ I nearly slap myself in the face in my haste to cover my mouth but it was too late to stop those words from coming out. ‘I can’t believe I—I—‘

He cuts me off. ‘Were you thinking you could kill me?’

‘No!’ Color me shocked and aghast. ‘Why would I want to kill you?’ His face seemed to suggest that this question usually had an obvious answer. ‘No, I didn’t want to kill you but honestly you looked pretty close to dead when you first got here. You looked like you hadn’t slept in days, and the same goes for eating. You puked up everything you ate out of my fridge and then you sleep for nearly two days. How is any of that supposed to reassure me that weren’t going to die and I wasn’t going to find a rotting corpse in my basement?’

‘I wasn’t dying.’

I am extremely skeptical on this point ‘Bucky,’ but sure. Okay. ‘Well you didn’t look good.’

He leaned back in his chair, a look in his eyes that while not arguing with what I said, disagreed with my definition of ‘good.’ 

I felt like laughing hysterically. Thirty-six hours of worrying about whether or not ‘Bucky’ was going to wake up and murder me and he was sitting there accusing me of wanting to kill him.

‘Then why did you let me stay? If you thought I was going to kill you.’ The answer to this mattered to him. I could tell that, even if I didn’t know why it mattered.

Well, when in doubt be honest and hope God looks out for honest idiots.

‘You were pretty much ready to pass out on my floor whether or not I ‘let’ you stay—but that wasn’t why.’ I paused to collect my thoughts. Bucky looked tense, but as far as I knew he always looked like that. Deep breath Lily, and talk. ‘When I found you in my kitchen you almost killed me. You shoved me up against a wall and put a knife at my throat. You didn’t exactly seem,’ be diplomatic Lily, be diplomatic, ‘stable. And later—after I made you eggs—you got really scary.’ He cocked his head. ‘You’re pretty scary all of the time but this was different. I—I don’t really know how to explain it except to say that you weren’t behind your eyes anymore. And what was there was…’ my breathing picked up just remembering it.

‘Then why did you let me stay?’ he repeated harshly.

‘Because you came back. You fought to come back. And I thought—I thought that if this was who you wanted to be, you deserved a chance. I thought I could help. Give you some time to heal up and find the strength to fight back. Or just plain hide here for a while. This house is a good place to hide.’ I smile wearily. ‘I’d know.’

Bucky doesn’t look convinced but neither does he look ready to kill me. I can live with that. 

I want to close my eyes and forget that this is happening. I want to put my head on the table and go back to sleep until it all goes away. In short, I want to do what I’ve been doing for the last three months. But I can’t. Not this time. In some strange twist of fate there’s someone sitting in front of me in worse shape than I am. And I’m such a sucker when someone needs me.

‘Look, do you want to stay here? I mean—for as long as you want. No one else comes here and it’s a quiet place.’

‘Why?’ He’s asking me why I’d let him stay, why I feel he deserves a chance, why I think he won’t kill me. I only have one way to show him.

‘Do you promise not to kill me?’ Now I’ve shocked him. He nods. ‘Then I promise not to kill you or tell anyone about you. You—you have sanctuary here.’

‘You don’t know me.’

‘No. But you haven’t given me a reason to doubt your promise. So…that’s good enough for me.’ 

His expression is one step away from either disgust or disbelief that I could be so trusting. It makes me want to laugh. Stupid inappropriate laughter. 

‘First things first, though. Do you want some more pancakes?’


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky eats another giant plate of pancakes. I make some more batter so I can have some. I feel a little like I’m feeding the lion at the zoo—only I’m living in the cage with it and hoping it’ll eat the food rather than me. 

When I sit down at the table again I catch a whiff of eau de Bucky. Yucky. The man had clearly not availed himself of the shower downstairs in the last two days he’d been here. I mean, I know he’d shown up half dead from exhaustion and hunger, but did he have a nose at all? 

I didn’t have much hope of introducing the topic to him. I’m a scaredy-cat when it comes to confrontations: I’d gotten nervous about putting post-it notes on the milk, for goodness’ sake. Maybe if I eased into it…

‘I—‘ His eyes arrow straight to mine and I swallow hard. ‘I just wanted to say a couple things about the house. I’m almost always here. I don’t go out much. If you’re comfortable in the basement you can stay there, it’ll be your space. Feel free to be in the rest of the house, just not my room.’ He nods. ‘You’re welcome to eat anything you find, but I’ll try to cook regular meals. I went shopping yesterday so we’ve got a lot of food now. Uh…what else…’ Do you mind if I talk to you for a minute about our Lord and Savior Shower-Man?

‘I don’t know how much clothes you have with you but I’ve got a washer and dryer in the basement, and I should have some things upstairs that might fit you. Most of them’ll be a little big, but there should be something. Oh, and I’ll make sure you have some fresh towels, ‘ hint-hint, ‘there’s a shower downstairs but there’s a bathtub upstairs if you like that better.’ Please oh please just use something. ‘Umm, I think that’s mostly it. Just make yourself at home and I’ll try not to bother you too much.’

I study him closely to see how well he’s taking all the information I just spurted at him. He’s doing his ‘slow processing’ routine. I’ve noticed that he likes to think things over fairly thoroughly before he says (or doesn’t say) anything. 

Except when it involves death or violence. Then he makes up his mind pretty quickly. (oh god)

It’s almost as if words don’t mean the same thing to him that they do to me. I think English is his first language since he doesn’t have an accent, but easy words or concepts like ‘eggs’ or ‘towels’ or ‘showers’ seem to need extra concentration. Like he’s trying to remember what they are.

My stomach lurches in a strange sympathy to the emotions I imagine Bucky is going through. It must be pretty hellish to be wandering around a world where only some things make sense and even then only partially. Stupid sympathy. It’s why I invited a damaged stranger to live with me. For as long as he wants to.

What is wrong with me?

Oh right, too many things to list here. But I think the top one on the list would be something like ‘overly optimistic and ready to believe the best in people.’ 

I once read a story where the main character was given a burial plot by his nemesis with a gravestone that read ‘Here lies Harry Dresden. He died trying to do the right thing.’ It’s not unlikely that my own headstone might have something similar on it—if there was anyone who knew how I died and felt inclined to settle my burial arrangements. 

I doubt Bucky will be so inclined.

But he did just promise not to kill me so maybe I should stop being so morbid.

‘I remember seeing some towels downstairs,’ Bucky said carefully, his eyes checking mine to see if he was saying something wrong. ‘They should be fine.’

‘Oh good,’ says I. ‘They might be a little musty though. They haven’t been used in a while.’

‘It should be fine.’ He repeats. ‘I need a change of clothes.’

‘All right. I’ll go looking.’ I pick up our dirty plates and put them in the sink with the rest of the dirty dishes. I’ll wash them later.

I climb upstairs to my parents’ old bedroom. In my mad cleaning spree two months back I’d gotten rid of a lot of things, but I hadn’t touched their clothes. Perishables like soaps and makeup, or the easy things like the 500 miles of computer cables my Dad kept weren’t hard to throw out. 

But their clothes—their clothes were them. I could remember my Dad wearing that shirt to work, or my mom asking me which belt went better with that skirt. These things had been too heavy to throw away two months ago. But giving some of my Dad’s clothes to Bucky…for some reason that didn’t feel too hard.

Dad had been about two times the width of Bucky, though. The shirts wouldn’t matter too much, but the pants…they’d be unwearable even with a belt. I went digging through his closet and dresser, hoping there would be something with a drawstring or maybe even old enough that it was closer to Bucky’s size.

I didn’t hear Bucky come up behind me and I jumped when he spoke.

‘Who lived here?’ His curiosity was understandable. I hadn’t truly explained my situation to him at all. I’d said I lived alone, but not why the house was full of things that clearly weren’t mine.

I meant to answer him right away but the last three months swarmed over me like vultures over carrion and it was a minute before I could manage to say,

‘This was my parents’ room.’ I stood up quickly, a few shirts and one pair of sweatpants in my hands. I tried to give them to him with an easy smile but I know my face was strained and my eyes were blank. ‘Here. These should fit.’ 

Bucky nodded then inspected each item. The shirts seemed to pass muster but when he held up the rather large sweatpants he actually did a double take. He looked at me, then at the pants, then at me again as if to say, ‘I know you said they’d be big, but really.’ His surprise managed to bring a genuine smile to my face. 

I motion helplessly to the pants and say, ‘Dad was…pretty big. Mom always wanted him to exercise more.’ A thought struck me. ‘Honestly, I might have some pants that’ll fit you better. They’ll be pajama pants but at least they won’t fall off you.’ I walk across the hall to my room, breathing a little heavily. 

I’ve spent a lot of time in my parents’ room in the last three months but it never gets any easier. 

Bucky follows me to the door of my room but he doesn’t enter. He leans against the doorframe as I hurriedly open one of my dresser drawers and pull out the only pants of mine that have a hope of fitting him. As I hold them up and look at him I realize they won’t be much better for all that than my Dad’s. 

‘Umm, these might be a little tight,’ I say, but Bucky shrugs in reply. I nod in agreement and give him the pants. They’re a non-descript grey color so at least he won’t be wearing something horribly girly. Not that I own a lot of horribly girly things but it would be just my luck if the only thing I could find for him to wear was bring pink with purple teddy bears dancing on it.

Bucky nods at me and goes back down the stairs. I stay in my room, trying to remember if I owned anything better than the grey pants. My Dad’s pants might have been 2x too big for Bucky, but mine were at least too small by half. The material would stretch a little but it might cut the circulation in his waist off. 

My mental review of my clothing turned up nothing so I went back into my parents’ room in hopes of finding something ‘in between’ for my Goldilocks to wear. 

I found a pair of shorts of my Dad’s that might work, but the rest of his clothes were clearly too large. The only thing left to do was examine my Mom’s clothes but that was such a long shot I almost contemplated not taking it. My Mom had had bigger hips than me and had been fond of stretch waist pants—but her sense of fashion can only kindly be called eccentric. She loved brightly multicolored clothes and even the ‘good’ options were very feminine. I doubted Bucky would want to wear crinkled brown escapees from the 80’s or floral nightmares from the 90’s. I chose a couple anyway. Who knows. Maybe he’d enjoy feeling pretty.

I could hear the basement shower running even in the kitchen. It made me smile. Bucky was finally going to be clean! Which reminded me that maybe I should ask to change his sheets. They must be pretty nasty too, and who wants to sleep on dirty sheets?

I wasn’t about to go into the basement bedroom without his permission, though. Not after I’d just delineated our personal spaces over breakfast. I’d just leave him the extra clothes outside the bathroom door and ask him about the sheets later. 

But in the middle of leaning over to put the clothes down, I heard the most blood-curdling noise of my life: the sound of the bathroom door opening.

If there’s anything more embarrassing than being caught in a semi-bent posture in front of a bathroom door while someone inside is supposed to be taking a shower, I don’t know what that thing is.

Bucky’s two dripping wet legs framed the front of my vision. 

Gulp. I feel almost sick with nauseous embarrassment but I do my best to straighten and stand up normally. Alas that proves to be impossible since I nearly fall backwards when I glance up and realize that Bucky is—forgive me—buck naked. 

In the far back of my head behind the part that was screaming at me for getting caught in this position was a voice that had been praying Bucky was wearing a towel, while another voice (even quieter) was extremely grateful that no one had been listening.

The man was solid muscle from head to toe. Not overly packed but with a sleek quality that came from usage and not time in a gym. 

I was blushing lobster red by the time I managed to stand up straight and look him in the eyes. But even looking straight ahead at his face I could see his muscles glinting at me through the water droplets—except on his left arm where metal was glinting at me instead. It was an obvious confirmation of something that I had suspected: his arm hadn’t been covered in metal—his arm was metal. Shiny shimmery metal all the way from his fingertips to over his shoulder. The metal looked clamped into his flesh while the skin around it appeared to be burned and scarred as if the process of attaching it hadn’t been…pleasant. 

‘I—I was just bringing you some clothes that I found, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—‘

Oddly enough Bucky didn’t seem to care that he’d just found me outside his door, or even noticed that I’d shamelessly ogled him as I stood up. 

‘I need soap. No—not soap. For my hair…’ Again the slight confusion of a man trying to translate faulty memories into reality.

‘Oh,’ I said, relieved. ‘Shampoo, right. I forgot I got rid of the one down here. I’ll, umm, go and get mine.’ Escape, escape, run far far away Lily before the embarrassment elephant catches up with you and squashes you flat.

Bucky reached out and stopped me. ‘Your shampoo?’

‘Um, yes. I don’t have anything else in the house. I threw out all the rest…’ I trailed off as a wet and completely naked Bucky leaned in close to me and inhaled deeply at the side of my head. My mind went blank. I could only stand there frozen, trying to pretend that I was as nonchalant about all this as he clearly was. I failed. I might have even squeaked.

Bucky leaned back and nodded thoughtfully as he let go of my arm. ‘It doesn’t smell like much.’

‘N-no.’ I force out. ‘I don’t really like strong smelling soap. I can’t breathe if all I smell is flowers or something.’ My face felt as hot as the sun. Oh God. The embarrassment elephant approacheth, trumpeting and waving its trunk. ‘I’ll go and get it—I mean, if you want it.’

‘Yes. Thank you.’ Bucky closes the door.

I wanted to lean against the wall and collapse in relief that I somehow got through that without doing something monumentally stupid but instead I ran panting up two flights of stairs and back down again whereupon I knocked and prepared to stare straight ahead—no I am certainly not ogling your impressive musculature out of the corner of my eye, no sir.

After a splashing moment Bucky opened the door. He had slicked back his hair and I noticed for the first time how square a face he had. I handed him my bottle of Pert 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner and felt compelled to advise him: ‘You’ll probably only need about a quarter’s size for that much hair.’

Dead silence and confusion from the naked man.

‘The shampoo,’ I continue quickly. ‘Pour about a quarter’s worth in your hand, lather it up and spread it through your hair. After you rinse it out you can do it again if your hair still feels greasy.’ Stop talking Lily, just stop talking of course he knows how to use shampoo, you’ve really done it now.

‘Twice should be enough?’ Bucky asked, completely serious.

‘Ah, yeah. I mean, your hair was pretty dirty but you can do it as many times as you want, really, until your hair feels clean. Oh, and here.’ I pass him a razor. ‘I didn’t know if you wanted to shave or not but I brought you a razor. Just in case.’ Bucky took the razor gently but with more of a sense of confidence than he had the shampoo. Well that’s a relief. I don’t think I’m really up for a discussion on beard shaving.

This time when he closes the door I do lean against the wall for a minute, trying to understand what just happened. I mean, it should be a fairly simple thing, right? He’s confident in his body and doesn’t feel the need to put a towel on when opening the door. 

But it’s not that simple, and as I climb the stairs I start to understand why. 

It was his eyes. They didn’t look particularly confident in his nudity—it was more that they didn’t look aware of it. As if there was no difference for him in being clothed or naked in front of me. As if his body meant so little to him he’d forgotten how to take care of it.

I put some music on while I clean up the breakfast dishes. My ipod set to shuffle fails to impress me when it chooses Frank Sinatra’s ‘Strangers in the Night’. I change it as fast as I can with my soapy hands.

It’s not long until I hear the shower shut off and it’s not long after that that I hear Bucky climb the stairs. I’m still standing at the sink but I half turn to greet him. 

I blink.

He’d chosen one of my Dad’s oversized t-shirts and my Mom’s floral yoga pants. I don’t normally feel the need to go clothes shopping, but I could barely stop myself from grabbing my keys and running out the door. It was that hideous.

The back of my brain sniggered and suggested that he should have stayed naked. Shut up back brain, you’re not helping.

Other than the clothes, though, he looked so much better. He had indeed shaved and with his hair still damp and combed back from his face he looked almost normal and far less scary than when I’d first seen him.

I put the frying pan in the drying rack and wipe my hands on a towel. Act natural, act natural, act like you haven’t just seen him naked twice. ‘How’d you like the shampoo?’ 

‘It worked.’

‘Good.’

Slightly awkward silence. Bucky breaks it first.

‘Do-do you want it back?’

‘Oh, um, I’ll get it later. Speaking of, do you want some new sheets for the bed? I’ll throw the others in the wash with your clothes so you don’t have to be stuck wearing those.’ I wince towards his choice in pants.

He looks concerned when I mention the sheets. ‘You don’t have to wash the sheets. They should be fine.’

‘No, it’s really okay. You don’t have to sleep on dirty sheets, and if I’m washing your clothes it’s just easier to do it all at once—‘

‘No.’ Bucky breaks in, shaking his head. ‘The sheets aren’t dirty.’

Forgive me if I don’t believe you. You don’t seem to have the same standard of ‘clean’ that I do. But if you want to sleep on dirty sheets I’ll have a hard time stopping you. You just better let me wash them before bugs start living in them.

‘All right. Just the clothes then. I’ll get those started.’ I try to walk past him to get to the basement door—don’t stare at his chest and certainly don’t remember how it looked with water dripping all over it—but Bucky stops me.

‘Have I done something wrong? You won’t look at me.’ He reaches up his right hand as if to cover his left arm. ‘Was it this?’

‘What? No. No. I just—‘ Great, just great. I can’t think up anything else to say except the truth. ‘I’m okay, everything’s fine.’ Look straight at him, Lily, don’t flinch.

‘But you’re still having a hard time looking at me.’ I flinch. His eyes echo pain back at me.

‘I’m sorry Bucky, I just—‘ oh just say it, ‘I’m not used to seeing naked men open doors right in front of me.’

Bucky blinks. I can practically see the loading symbol in his eyes: loading, loading…

‘That’s what’s bothering you?’

‘Umm, yes. I mean, it’s no big thing I’m really sorry for acting strange—I’m just not used to it. But it’s your choice, I’m not telling you what to do, if you’re fine with it—‘

There was the light of dawning memory in his eyes. ‘I should have put the towel on before opening the door.’ He looks at me for confirmation.

‘I—um. Yes. If you want to. But if it doesn’t bother you—‘

‘I’ll wear a towel next time.’ Bucky says seriously as he withdraws his arm to let me pass.

‘Right. Okay.’ I smile weakly as I walk down the stairs to find his dirty clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor. I pick them up and put them in the washer.

Sure Bucky. Wear a towel next time.

But it’s going to be a long while before I forget the sight of water trailing down those abs. Yes it will.


	5. Chapter 5

Lunch was a simple affair of sandwiches. Grilled cheese, to be specific, with a dessert of the brownies from last night. True to form Bucky smiled his small smile when he bit into his first brownie. What can I say, the man loves his sugar. He ate half the tray.

At this rate I’ll have to bake again soon—maybe I’ll even break out some of my old favorites. 

I haven’t felt up to baking in a while. The closest I’ve come is occasionally whipping up a bit of cookie dough to eat or a box of brownies like last night. I used to bake all the time. I’d get at itch that could only be scratched by making chocolate chip oatmeal cookies or sugar and cinnamon pull apart bread. 

I was always helping my Mom bake for some holiday or another, too. Hamantaschen for Purim, Teiglach for Rosh Hashanah, bon-bons and rum balls and paper thin sugar cookies for Christmas. Not to mention the cheese cake, rum cake, carrot cake, and apple pies that were made for any reason at all. 

And they were never made in small quantities, oh no. Cookies weren’t just for us to eat, they were for giving to friends and family and random strangers who happened to be walking by at the right time. I was raised to be generous with food in the Jewish tradition of hospitality—to the extent where I just invited a total stranger to stay with me because he was hungry. Who else ends up cooking eggs for a man who broke into their house in the middle of the night? Oh that’s right, crazy people. Or maybe my Mom. She always needed to feed anyone who entered our house, and it seems she passed that on to me too.

But getting back to baking—most of my favorite cookies take a lot of work, which is the reason why my Mom always drafted me to help her even when I was small. Two sets of hands make the work go a lot faster. But the chocolate chip oatmeal cookies aren’t too hard to make—they just take a long time because the recipe makes about four times as much as any other recipe I’ve ever seen. 

I decided not to make them today, however. The brownies should last until tomorrow and I wanted to relax this afternoon. Needed to relax. 

Bucky had gone back downstairs after a quiet lunch and I didn’t expect to see him again until dinner time. I went upstairs to my room but I found myself unable to relax. I turned on some music only to turn it off halfway through the first song. Even Doctor Who didn’t have much appeal. I picked up a much beloved copy of Tamora Pierce’s ‘First Test’ and ended up tossing it across my bed in frustration. Nothing could hold my interest and I was getting jumpier by the second. If I didn’t find something to calm me down soon I was just begging for a stress-induced panic attack that night.

Logically I knew that going for a walk was probably the healthiest option but I couldn’t muster up enough enthusiasm for it. Frankly, the last few days had been uber-draining and at the moment I didn’t even have enough energy to prime the pump so I could fill up again. I found myself wandering around the second floor of my house, aimlessly walking into rooms and then walking straight out again.

It shouldn’t really come as a surprise that I ended up back in my parents’ room and found myself unable to leave. I trailed my hands across nightstands and bureaus making tracks in the dust that had never had a chance to accumulate when they were alive. 

And then, like I did when I was small, I opened my Mom’s closet and I crawled inside, pushing aside her shoes until there was enough space for me to curl up in. Only then could I finally express the grief that had been building up in my heart since the last time I allowed myself to cry.

I’ve always been a crier. It just made more sense to me to relieve the stress of my emotions than to let them build up too much. It’s like the emergency release valve on a dam—when the pressure behind the dam builds up too much you let some of the water out or it breaks the dam. I never cried at the drop of a hat, but I never felt all that bad about crying either.

But after…well. I just couldn’t stop crying. I cried so much I couldn’t function. It wasn’t why I quit my job but it didn’t exactly help. I got so sick of it, got so sick of crying all the time. It didn’t help anything. So I stopped. Set myself some ridiculous arbitrary rules about only being allowed to cry once a day, or once a week. I never managed the ‘once a month’ rule, but I tried. I tried. 

I was just so tired.

But even my rules needed to be broken sometimes.

So sitting there in my Mom’s closet, somewhere in the middle of painful sobs and whispers of desperate pleas, I drifted off to sleep in the last place I’d ever felt safe.

When I woke up it was to a rhythmic thudding sound. My eyes didn’t exactly snap open but I blinked gummily and tried to figure out what it was. I didn’t have a clue. I decided to first wash my face and then go investigate but on my way to the bathroom I glanced out the windows that looked out on the back yard and I stopped—utterly astonished by what I saw.

Bucky—my mysterious and scary houseguest—was boxing with the old dead tree on the edge of the yard. I’ve never boxed myself, but even I know better than to box without gloves on a solid wood surface. Maybe that doesn’t matter to a man with a metal arm, but his other arm was plain old-fashioned flesh and bone like the rest of us and that had to hurt.

The pace of his punches picked up and I could see the old tree shaking from the force of his blows. I was mesmerized by the sight even as the back of my head screamed at me that it wasn’t possible for a man to hit that hard. Bucky was some distance away but I could see the tension in his shoulders and the raw emotion that was driving him to pound at that tree like it was someone he needed to hurt.

Suddenly he flung himself away from the tree and into what seemed like a pattern exercise. I knew he could move fast, but I had no idea he could move like this: one moment he was standing on the edge of the yard and with a flash and a roll or a jump he would be all the way across the yard and fighting another invisible enemy. He spun and kicked and I could almost see the men he fought; this one was elbowed in the face; this one was punched in the groin; this one just got his stomach sliced open while that one’s neck was snapped. 

The pace of the violence increased as I watched but so did his frustration. Whatever demons he was trying to exorcise they did not appear to want to leave him be. Faster and faster went his hands and soon he was almost a blur to my vision. He was across the yard from the dead tree at this point but all of a sudden he whirled and began to walk toward it.

Walk. Ha. If that was a walk then I’m an octopus. 

When I say the word walk it sounds like such a simple thing. One step in front of the other. That’s too normal for what Bucky did. And it wasn’t a stride, or a pace, or even a saunter. No. 

Bucky advanced toward that tree with a focused inevitability that claimed each foot of ground he walked on. What was behind him didn’t matter because all threats had been neutralized and all that mattered was what was in front of him. He was as deliberate and inexorable as death itself and even though I couldn’t see his face I knew that it was the face of the killer who sat in my kitchen that first night. I knew it like I know my own name. 

When Bucky got close to the tree he threw himself towards it with a wrenching shout and slammed his metal fist into the trunk so hard that I heard the tree crack and saw it start to fall. Unhurriedly Bucky pivoted to one side as the tree fell and landed only inches from him. His chest was heaving—but from emotion, I think, and not from exertion. 

He kicked the tree in anger before hopping up on the trunk and beginning one of his pattern fights up there. Forwards and backwards he sprang, faster and faster. He never slipped or fell, not even when leaping from the trunk to some of the narrower branches that still remained. 

And when that pattern was done, he did it again. And again. And again.

After a while I couldn’t watch anymore. It was too painful.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for PTSD and violence

I finally made it to the bathroom where I washed my face and blew my stuffy nose. I moved jerkily on a sort of autopilot as my mind played and replayed what I’d just watched. Even though I’d just seen it I could barely believe it. I’d known he was strong and fast and deadly from the first night I saw him—but this! This was almost too much confirmation. I could have stood staying at least a little ignorant.

No, that’s a lie. I’ve always preferred knowing the truth, even if it was unpleasant.

And the truth of this situation—although terrifying—was also heart breaking. The way Bucky had been driving himself, the clear internal pain he’d been feeling far outweighed any danger I maybe should have feared.

I said before I was a sucker for being needed. I wasn’t sure what Bucky needed or even if I was capable of giving it—but I had to try.

The whole situation was daunting though. From what I could see Bucky at the very least had some sort of PTSD and/or amnesia. Two things I can’t say I know much about, or even how to fix. I was an English major, for goodness’ sake! I worked in office jobs or in retail. I am NOT a psychiatrist. 

But look at me, Ma! No hands! First time on this bicycle and I’m headed down the biggest hill I can find.

My thoughts had turned far too depressing so I decided to start making dinner instead.

I am the Queen of Avoiding Unpleasant Issues. It’s a surprisingly large country and almost everyone ends up here eventually. Not everyone stays but we try to make them comfortable while they’re here.

As I walked downstairs I decided that tonight was a good time to break out that steak I bought. Bucky could probably use the protein, especially if he kept going like he was. I however do not like steak and would be eating chicken.

It was mid-afternoon and a little too early to start cooking but it was the perfect time to put the meat in a marinade: my very own special whiskey glaze. That way they’re ready to grill later. 

While the meat was marinating I started chopping potatoes to make for a side dish. I know a great recipe for mustard crusted potatoes. 

It was still far too early to cook the potatoes so I left them soaking in cold water as I went back upstairs, very carefully avoiding looking out any windows. There was a lot I didn’t want to see.

Once back in my room I cranked up some Viking metal and pretended I was off sailing to Valhalla with my rough crew of fierce warriors. Ha.

At least it made me feel a little better to pretend for a while that life contained cut and dried quests to be won or lost—where honor and loyalty weren’t murky concepts but obvious choices between what is good and what is evil.

When you live in a story things are so much simpler. Not necessarily easier or less heart-breaking, but simpler. To fight evil you must choose what is good—and it’s easy to find out what is good because it’s obviously anything that evil doesn’t want you to do.

The music eventually ended with a rocking guitar solo and lots of chanting in Norwegian, and so ended my grand visions of heroes and noble quests. It was time to make dinner.

I mixed up the potatoes and started them baking, then went outside to start the grill. I’m not a big griller but my Dad always kept the tank full so I didn’t have to worry about not having enough gas—at least not this time. 

I had no idea how Bucky liked his steak and after this afternoon I was feeling far too cowardly to approach him about it (the image of him tenderizing the steak like he’d tenderized that tree flashed through my mind and it was both amazing and horrifying at the same time). I hoped he liked it medium done with faint charring because I’m good at that. I turned the meat every few minutes and slapped another layer of marinade on top. I like flavor.

After enough time I turned the fire on low to just finish cooking the steak and chicken and I went inside to check the potatoes. They were almost done too—a testament to my cooking skills and ability to time different dishes. 

Something nagged at the back of my head, though, and I realized that it was my mother’s voice asking me where the vegetable was. Potatoes didn’t qualify. I sighed in exasperation (and relief that I could still hear an echo of her voice) and decided to placate her by adding peas to the dinner menu. Is that good enough for you, Mom? Vaguely satisfied grumbles from the back of my memories are my only answer.

I went downstairs to fetch the frozen peas out of the freezer and while down there I decided to make the trip worth double duty. So with a slight clench in my stomach I knocked on Bucky’s door. 

Surprise surprise heopened it, looking sweaty and tired down to his soul. 

‘Dinner’s almost ready,’ I said. ‘It’s steak, potatoes, and peas.’ I brandished the frozen pea package at him.

Bucky blinked, nodded jerkily, and strode past me to enter the bathroom. He closed the door and I heard water running.

He’s taking another shower? Will wonders never cease. I just hope he’s quick this time. I don’t want the meat to cook too long or cool off too much. 

Did you notice how I tried to distract myself with thoughts of cooking rather than his naked wet abs? Because I totally distracted myself and certainly wasn’t remembering that at all. Nuh-uh.

Bucky made it upstairs just as I brought the meat in and the microwave finished cooking the peas. Go us. Bucky was back in the same clothes he arrived in which is a bit of a relief, to be honest, because what he was wearing earlier was awful. 

You’d think that the sight of him wearing my Mom’s awful pants while he destroyed that tree would leave a lasting impression and make the entire experience that much more surreal, but at the time I hadn’t even noticed. My powerful observational skills at work.

Bucky’s eyes flicked back and forth from his plate to mine as I gave him the steak and myself the chicken. He looked like he was trying to find a way to frame the question but I took pity on him.

‘I don’t like steak. I prefer chicken.’ He nodded, we parceled out the potatoes and peas and began to eat. I nearly moaned aloud as the whiskey glaze on my chicken melted in my mouth. I settled for closing my eyes and sighing really deeply. I opened them to find Bucky chewing perplexedly.

‘Is everything okay?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’ He still looked a little perplexed. ‘What did you put on it?’

‘Whiskey glaze. Full of secret ingredients.’ My eyes flashed amusement and the willingness to tell him all about it but he didn’t take the bait. His loss.

‘I like it.’ He sounded surprised. Thank you Bucky for that ringing endorsement. Have you not liked the rest of my cooking? ‘I don’t know the last time I had a steak.’ He dug into the potatoes and seemed to find them acceptable too. ‘Why don’t you like steak? You cook it well enough.’

‘It’s a texture thing. Even really good steak weirds my mouth out. It’s too chewy. I feel like I can’t stop chewing. Like it’s bubble gum.’

A light flashed behind his eyes. He remembers bubble gum. ‘This is nothing like bubblegum.’

‘Well good, but I’ll stick with my chicken.’

The rest of dinner passed in an almost companionable silence. Bucky of course ate enough for two or three people but I expected that. After we finished he even helped carry the dishes to the sink. Score one for me! And they say men can’t be trained.

I started washing the dishes and to my surprise Bucky fetched a dish towel and started drying them as soon as I put them in the rack. There was an element of automatic repetition to his movements, but not the scary kind like this afternoon. More like this was a childhood chore, or something.

We finished up and Bucky hung the towel where it came from. We pause.

‘I’m going to watch a movie.’ I blurt out. ‘If you want to join me.’ Really? I am? Sometimes I wish my mouth would consult with my brain before I say things, just to give me a little time to adjust to the idea.

‘Okay.’

Really? You actually want to? I tried to transmute the slight shock on my face into a smile. ‘Okay.’

I motioned to the living room and Bucky chose the most defensible corner to sit in. I crossed to my DVD cases. ‘Are you in the mood for anything in particular?’ I ask.

‘You should choose.’

‘I don’t want to pick something you don’t like.’

Bucky leaned back into his couch with his grimace of a smile. ‘You should pick.’

I hate it when people won’t give me guidelines when we’re choosing a movie. I’ve yet to meet someone who truly enjoys every movie ever created, no matter what they say. Oh bother. Now I felt all panicky over choosing what movie to watch. Did he like action movies? Was he in a mood for a comedy? What was his tolerance for my favorite genre of ‘bad movies?’ I flipped through the pages of my case faster and faster until I came to the end, in no way closer to making a decision than I had been before. I closed my eyes and hummed to myself softly for a moment, trying to choose a movie based on instinct and blind luck. I opened my eyes and pulled Wall-e out of its slot. I shrugged to myself. I hope Mr. Scary Face liked Pixar.

‘Have you seen Wall-e?’

‘No.’

‘Have you seen any Pixar?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. Well, they’re really good at what they do. They make kid’s movies but they’re not just for kids.’

‘Okay.’ Bucky was humoring me. I slid the disc in and used the remote to skip to the dvd menu. I pressed play and the room was plunged into the darkness of space as stars and nebulas passed us by while one of the opening numbers from Hello Dolly! played.

I couldn’t resist glancing to the side to see how Bucky was reacting, even though I knew it was too early to tell how he felt about it. And as I knew it would be, his face was pretty blank. But as I continued to steal glances at him he looked progressively more perplexed and/or interested.

When we finally see Wall-e’s cockroach friend, Bucky burst out, ‘This is a cartoon? It looks so real.’

I smiled. ‘Yeah. Pixar is one of the best animation studios. They’re really great.’

Bucky leaned forward to get a better look at Wall-e trundling across the screen. ‘Amazing.’ As he said that his whole face lightened into a delighted smile that lingered in his eyes and the corners of his lips.

I felt a bit warm and fuzzy inside—and it wasn’t because Wall-e is one of my favorite movies. 

So far Bucky had only smiled for sugar—and now a kid’s movie. Sugar and a kid’s movie. Only a couple hours ago he broke a tree in half with one punch and here he sat on my couch, watching Wall-e stumble his way through his morning routine and—wait a minute. Did he just…laugh? He did it again! It wasn’t much of a laugh, more just a breathy hitch, but to me it qualified. I settled back into my seat with a small laugh of my own as Wall-e put a bra over his face and I allowed myself to relax. I guess I made a good choice of a movie after all.

We watched as Wall-e bumbled his way into meeting Eve, and Bucky was completely shocked when Eve found the plant and shut down. And by the time we made it to the Axiom Bucky was hooked and utterly invested in the story. It’s a good movie. Sometimes there were things Bucky didn’t seem to get—or maybe he just didn’t find them as funny as me. But that didn’t seem to bother him overmuch. 

All in all everything was going amazingly well—I’d lost count of the number of times I’d mentally patted myself on the back for choosing this movie—until the moment when Wall-e climbs up the trash chute and refuses to give Auto back the plant. Auto responds by getting out this scary arc-welder tool and frying Wall-e’s circuitry. It’s an incredibly painful scene and it makes you realize just how much you care about Wall-e. Seeing him in pain is intolerable.

I’d gotten a little wrapped up in the movie at this point and it took me a minute to calm down and stop sniffling before I felt able to look over at Bucky. A chill ran through me. I don’t know what I expected to see, but it wasn’t that.

He was sitting bolt upright on the couch, right hand clenched into the armrest so deeply I knew it was going to leave a dent. His face was a strange mixture of emotions that flickered by too fast to be identified. But his eyes—his eyes were blank with remembered pain and fear.

I felt frozen in place but I managed to reach for the remote and paused the movie. 

‘Bucky?’ I squeezed out of my throat. ‘Bucky?’ He didn’t seem to hear me. Whatever picture show was playing in his head was too loud for me to speak past. I gulped. I should probably do something. I know I should do something. But what? Getting close to him in one of his volatile moments would not be a smart decision, but leaving him alone to face his demons was revolting to me. I panicked briefly then made a decision I knew I would regret.

I gently tossed a pillow at him. It glanced off his shoulder and landed in his lap.

Like lightning he was on his feet and the killer was in his eyes. He grabbed me by my throat with his left arm and pulled me up to dangle at arms length from him. Instinctively I grabbed at his hand and tried to loosen his grip but he responded by pushing me into the wall and pressing harder. I couldn’t breathe and terror was sapping what little oxygen I had left. 

I knew I was going to regret tossing that pillow. I just hadn’t expected it to be quite this regrettable.

As I felt my oxygen running out I did my best to relax. To show that I wasn’t a threat. The killer in Bucky’s eyes gave way to emotions of confusion, pain, and anger. So much anger. I could feel my heart struggling to beat and the edges of my vision started to narrow and I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from fighting him anymore. 

But in the moment I started to lose control Bucky found his and his grip on my throat loosened and I fell onto the couch and gasped for air. Bucky loomed above me, left arm braced against the wall while with his right he slammed his fist clean through the sheetrock. When he pulled it out I was showered with plaster dust that made me cough and blink and when I was finally able to keep my eyes open he was gone.

On the TV Wall-E was frozen sitting with Mo at the bottom of the trash room. I struggled to find a normal breathing pattern again and I felt like crying. But I’d already used my quota of tears this week and I wasn’t going to waste them on my own stupidity.

So I stood up and went to fetch the vacuum to clean up the mess I’d made. 

The hole in the wall would take a little more work to fix, though. It was big enough that just shoving plaster in it wouldn’t work. I’d need to plug it with some more sheetrock. I knew we had some up in the attic along with the necessary plaster so I roughly measured the hole then took a box cutter up with me to cut a suitable piece off. 

I left it and the plaster on the couch for tomorrow morning. Tonight probably wasn’t the best time to be doing home repair, as I was starting to feel extremely shaky as the adrenaline wore off.

I had been ignoring the noises coming from outside while I cleaned up the pulverized sheetrock, but they were familiar sounds now and I knew what they were. Bucky was outside doing his pattern fights on the tree again, only this time I could occasionally hear him shout or grunt with pain as he pounded his fists into invisible enemies. 

I went upstairs and was grateful that my room faced the front of the house and not the back. I turned my computer on and Googled: PTSD. I had a lot of learning to do.

Hours later I’d finally run out of pages that presented me with new material to read. The sounds from outside had diminished and it made me hope that Bucky had gone back inside and was able to sleep. My newfound knowledge told me that physical exercise was often considered beneficial to those suffering from PTSD. And that a real mental health professional should be consulted for help. Not a washed-up English major who doesn’t like to leave her own house. 

As I sat on my bed and tried to piece together all I knew about Bucky and everything I’d just learned I felt more helpless and useless than I had since I got that phonecall three months ago.

Had I actually thought I could help this man? Look, Ma, no hands. That’s right no hands. My hands were useless. They did things like toss pillows at a man suffering from PTSD while he’s having an episode. All because I didn’t want to get close to him because of what he might do. Yeah. Like that extra five feet of space had really helped me.

I was too tired to sleep and too upset to want to do anything else. So I sat on my bed and let the minutes crawl by until dawn. Welcome back, Insomnia my old friend. I’d wondered where you were.


	7. Chapter 7

Insomnia is hell. Or maybe just purgatory. Endless waiting for nothing to happen. Especially when you’ve messed up so badly and could desperately use some peaceful oblivion.

But no. Instead of relaxing and letting my unconscious and subconscious minds duke it out in my dreams while solving my problems for me, I lay awake in my bed feeling sick to my stomach over my horrible life choices.

How could I have been so stupid? How had I thought that throwing a pillow at Bucky while he was clearly having some sort of episode was a good idea?

Your Honor, the only possible plea is temporary insanity brought on by panic. Or else just plain idiocy. Can we plea idiocy? Is that valid?

How embarrassing it all was. 

No—not embarrassing. Embarrassment is what happens when you rip your pants in public or sing too loudly with your headphones in. This was…bigger. I wasn’t embarrassed, I was ashamed. I was filled with a sickening shame that was slowly dragging me down into despair.

Could I fix this? Was there something I could do to fix any of this?

Ha. Don’t make me laugh. What are you supposed to do? Go up to Bucky (assuming he’s feeling less volatile today) and say, ‘Sorry for throwing a pillow at you while you were having a PTSD episode. Thank you for not killing me. So…how about some therapy?

Nope. Nope.

Nope.

Just the thought of saying something like that made me feel nauseous. Well, more nauseous. I don’t think that sick feeling in my stomach has gone away since I paused the movie last night.

Sitting up in my bed became too tiring. I flopped onto my back. Light was starting to come through the cracks in my blinds. It’s the most depressing time for an insomniac—at least I think so—because it means that you didn’t manage to fall asleep before dawn. The sun was now up and you lost your chance. Oh well. Better luck next time. Please insert two quarters and try again.

A noise downstairs made me bolt upright. Bucky was awake and in the kitchen.

If I was a braver person than I was I’d go downstairs and apologize. I’d talk to him about what had happened and make him something to eat and it would all be okay. Eventually.

But I’m not all that brave. Just naïve and delusional occasionally. So I stayed upstairs and listened to the sounds Bucky made as he cooked his breakfast. 

My conscience whispered at me, You should go talk to him.

Shut up.

It’s only going to get worse if you wait. Just do it. Get it over with. 

No. I…I can’t. I can’t do this. I just can’t do this. 

Hiding from your conscience by putting a blanket over your head and curling up in the fetal position isn’t the smartest move, but if it kept on whispering at me I’d have a complete breakdown.

Just leave me alone. Please. Don’t make me do this. I can’t go down there. I just can’t.

Delay a decision long enough and the choice gets taken out of your hands. I heard water running briefly and then the sound of the basement door closing. Bucky was gone. My chance was gone. It didn’t make me feel any better. 

Out of a strange sense of punishment I dragged myself out of bed instead of trying to fall asleep again. Even if I was too much a coward to talk to Bucky there were other things I could do.

Like fix the wall from last night.

Working with spackle isn’t hard—just messy. Since I was plugging the hole with a bit of sheet rock I had to make sure that the piece and the hole lined up pretty closely, which meant slowly carving at the both of them until they matched up tight. The point is to not use too much spackle, or else it just oozes out of the hole and you’ve got a lot to sand down. I hoped to be able to finish this with just one or two coats. It would take most of the day, but that was mostly drying time.

Plenty of time to do other things.

Like talk to Bucky? whispered my traitor conscience.

No. Like bake cookies. A much better option.

I nearly even balked at that when I realized I’d have to go downstairs to fetch a couple ingredients from the pantry, but heart in mouth, I managed it anyway.

I said before that my chocolate chip oatmeal cookie recipe takes a while to make because it’s so big. What with fixing the wall and making the cookies it was nearly noon before I realized it. I placed the last cookie sheet in the drying rack and I realized that I hadn’t heard a peep out of Bucky all morning since he’d eaten breakfast. I’d made enough noise baking that he couldn’t have been ignorant of my presence in the kitchen, and it was almost lunchtime…well. He’d be up soon and there would go my procrastinatory impulses. We’d talk soon.

That thought didn’t make me feel very good, but it was almost a relief, too. At least it would be over with.

I made myself a grilled cheese sandwich, leaving the fixings out so I could make Bucky one too when he came up.

He didn’t come up.

Was he sleeping? Yesterday had been pretty exhausting, even for me and I hadn’t done anything. Maybe I should knock on his door and—

What is wrong with you, Lily? This is exactly the same sort of behavior that got you into this mess. Leave the man alone. You promised him sanctuary. Give him space.

So I left two slices of bread and cheese by the frying pan and I went upstairs.

Not five minutes later I heard Bucky climb the basement stairs and turn on the stove to make himself a grilled cheese.

A small suspicion started to grow in me. Bucky hadn’t come up the stairs right after I left, but five minutes was a good amount of time if you were a cautious sort and wanted to make sure I wasn’t coming back down.

I snorted in disbelief. I wasn’t just avoiding Bucky—Bucky was avoiding me! But why?

Oh right. Because I’m the idiot who catapulted his flashback into the next level. No wonder he wanted to avoid me in case I did something brilliant like that again. I’d stay away from me too. I noticed some plaster dust on my pants and I brushed it off dejectedly, shame and despair settling over my again like a well worn sweater.

Well, it’s a big house. Plenty of room for the two of us to avoid each other, and I am the Queen of Avoiding Unpleasant Issues so this shouldn’t be any trouble.

But oddly enough the thought of continuing to avoid this problem didn’t sit well with me. I mean, I’m a big fan of waiting to deal with something until I feel strong enough to handle it—but never dealing with it? That’s very unhealthy.

Said the girl who lost her family, quit her job, and spent the last three months barely leaving the house.

Yeah. Healthy. Ha.

So I stayed away from the middle floor and tried to ignore the sounds Bucky made. I put Doctor Who on and curled up in a tired ball while I watched the Doctor make better decisions that I ever could. I was exhausted from not having slept last night and I was starting to feel the extreme see-sawing of my emotions that happens when I’ve been awake too long. A couple of times I tried closing my eyes but sleep wouldn’t come and the black behind my eyes wasn’t very restful. I kept seeing Bucky’s anguished eyes and my heart would hurt too much for resting.

Eventually there were no more sounds from downstairs and it was high time for me to make dinner. Even if Bucky and I were able to keep up not being in the same room at the same time, we still needed to eat.

Once downstairs I stared blank-eyed at the cabinets before deciding that spaghetti and meatballs sounded just fine. I didn’t feel up to anything more complicated.

Cooking dinner passed in a tired haze. I’d turn to go get something and then forget what it was and have to wait until my brain decided to work again. It was a good thing I hadn’t chosen to make something more complicated or else it would have taken all night to make. 

Once the spaghetti was strained and the meatballs taken off the fire I dithered about what to do next. (I hate dithering, but I seem to do it a lot when I’m over tired. Lack of focus and all that). Should I eat down here? But then Bucky’s food would get cold. Should I knock on his door to tell him dinner was ready? Bad idea, Lily. Remember?

Simple decisions take on the importance of world peace when you’re exhausted.

Finally I settled on taking my food up to my room and leaving the field free for Bucky. As I climbed the stairs heavily I hoped Bucky would repeat his performance of earlier and only wait five minutes before coming upstairs so his food wouldn’t get too cold. 

Sure enough, five minutes later I heard him in the kitchen. I sighed in relief. At least I was still able to feed him, no matter what else I’d done I was still good for that. (when I was downstairs I also noticed that some of the cookies were gone from the leftover dish I’d stored them in. yay!)

After I finished eating I started feeling a little more energized. Eating does that, especially when you’re tired. As the man said, ‘Sleep is food and food is sleep.’ At least for a while. I decided to use this newfound energy to put a second coat on my wall patch, or at least just sand it down if it didn’t need another layer. 

I listened carefully before going downstairs and since there were no sounds I concluded Bucky was back in the basement.

I should have listened harder.

Bucky was downstairs and moreover he was sitting on the arm of the couch sanding down the rough spackle. He didn’t quite turn his head to look at me when I came into view, but I could tell he knew I was there, and didn’t want to see me. But if that was the case, why hadn’t he left when he heard me coming down the stairs? I was too tired to figure it out so I left it for later.

‘Hey.’ I managed to squeeze out of my tight throat. Once again, I deserve an award for thrilling conversation.

Bucky hunched his shoulders as if to protect himself from my gaze.

Right. Okay. I put my dishes in the sink. Bucky continued sanding.

Say something Lily. Apologize at least. 

‘Thank you for doing that. I was just going to see if it needed a second coat.’

Bucky’s jaw clenched so tightly I thought his teeth might break. Maybe I should have said something else. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all.

‘It’s fine now.’ He bit out. ‘I’m almost done.’ He visibly concentrated on the mentally consuming work of sanding down plaster. Clearly I was not wanted.

Well why would I be? 

‘Good,’ I said after too long a pause. ‘Thank you for finishing it.’ My thanking him again seemed to cause him some turmoil because he swung around to face me with an incredulous expression that immediately mutated into blank horror and self-loathing. His eyes fixed on my throat and even thought I knew it didn’t look like he was contemplating choking me again his stare made me feel very uncomfortable.

Bucky’s hand spasmed around the sandpaper he’d been using and he shook his head in denial as he stood up and brushed past me. 

‘Bucky—‘

He rounded on me with a snarl. ‘Stay away from me! Just…just stay away from me.’ Then he was gone.

I swallowed hard and winced in unexpected pain. I put my hand up to my throat and winced again. I blinked then walked quickly over to the hall mirror and turned on the light. My eyes nearly bugged out in shock.

My throat was one massive black and blue bruise. I could tell that it would be a long time before it faded. Wow. It was almost impressively bad. I arched my neck to get a better look at the right side and grimaced as the bruised muscles pulled. The span of the bruise was…massive. I help my own hand up to compare, but there really was no comparison. Bucky’s hand was large and had nearly wrapped around my whole throat. I swallowed hard at the memory of his iron-hard fingers choking me, the way his eyes had been full of hatred and fear and pain. At least, until he released me. Then, in that instant before I almost blacked out, he had worn another expression that I hadn’t noticed at the time (being too concerned with breathing). It had looked a lot like the expression he’d worn just now when he’d seen my bruise. Shock. Self-loathing. Horror.

Dear God in all the starry heavens. Bucky wasn’t avoiding me because of what I’d done—or at least, only indirectly because of that. He was avoiding me because he’d nearly killed me and he obviously blamed himself for that. 

I almost couldn’t understand why, though. I mean, it was my actions that had forced his—I had chosen the movie that gave him the flashback. I had thrown a pillow at him when a more tactful response was called for. 

I hadn’t exactly asked to be choked, but I hadn’t given him a compelling reason not to choke me. When you provoke a lion you should expect to get mauled. And he’d only half mauled me, after all.

This wasn’t getting me anywhere though. I forced myself to think of this from his perspective. I had invited him to live in my house, eat my food, share my company—and all I’d asked from him was a promise not to kill me. And the first time we’d watched a movie together he’d barely been able to keep that promise.

At least, I assume that’s what he was thinking. I had no way of knowing for sure unless we talked about it but that didn’t seem likely after the way he’d run away from me. 

Maybe if I just explained to him that I felt it was my fault and I wasn’t angry at him—or at least, it was a bit both our faults but I still wasn’t angry. Just concerned that we needed to take steps so this wouldn’t happen again. And by that I meant me taking steps so I would be less stupid next time it happened. My research into PTSD had given me some good advice on how to stop a flashback in non-harmful ways, usually by grounding the person in the present with strong smells or even music. 

None of the websites I’d seen had recommended throwing pillows at someone. 

Perhaps it was a bit absurd that I was more concerned with my actions than I was frightened of his. Yes, being choked nearly to death was terrifying and nothing I wanted to experience ever again, and Bucky was a scarily strong and troubled man whose problems would almost certainly spill over onto me again. But to me his actions were understandable whereas mine…mine were just stupid.

I almost wished he’d hated me instead of himself. That at least I could handle.

I walked over to the newly sanded patch on the wall. It was perfectly smooth. We did good work. I fetched a damp cloth to wipe up the plaster dust from the wall and the couch. I rinsed it out in the sink and then went back upstairs to settle into another sleepless night.


	8. Chapter 8

I passed the night trapped in a state of hyper-awareness of the passage of time, while being completely unable to do anything about it. I wish I could say that this was an unfamiliar state for me, but I can’t. It had rarely gotten this bad, but ever since my family died I’d often found myself going for days without much sleep. 

Not long after dawn I heard faint sounds coming from the back of the house. I listened closely to their rhythm and decided that Bucky was running through more of his exercises. That meant it was a good time for me to get up and eat something while he was occupied.

I might have been so exhausted that I was one inch away from falling on my face, but eggs, bacon, and bagels are easy enough to make. And besides, it meant I could make enough for the two of us.

I was a flat-out failure in most regards, but if I could still feed someone maybe I wasn’t completely useless. Maybe.

Again, eating gave me a jolt of energy—but a smaller one than it had yesterday. It was enough to help me clean the dishes and write Bucky a note telling him to eat the food.

I went upstairs and tried to relax as time splintered around me. One moment there was complete silence in the house, and in the next Bucky was washing his dishes after eating a slow breakfast. I had no memory of what happened in between but I knew it had happened.

My heart jolted behind my ribs and my stomach lurched as time splintered again. Bucky was back in the kitchen. It sounded like he was making a sandwich.

Sandwich. I like sandwiches. Should I eat a sandwich?

Yes Lily. Go eat a sandwich.

Okay.

I don’t remember making the sandwich but the taste of the peanut butter and honey in my mouth was almost overpowering. My eyes pricked with tears as the sweetness of the honey made the insides of my cheeks ache and throb.

Strangely enough that small pain cleared my head a little. At least, enough to awaken me to the reality of the situation; that if I didn’t fall asleep soon I’d be in serious trouble.

And by serious trouble I mean full-on hallucinations and obvious permanent brain damage.

Lovely.

Everything felt very close and far removed at the same time. My head felt like it was drifting behind me like a balloon in a high wind. I was starting to get sparkles at the edge of my vision and I knew those hallucinations weren’t far behind.

Despite all this I pulled my thoughts together with a grim focus to try and solve this problem.

But how to solve it? I’d done everything I could think of—everything I normally did to fall asleep. Books, music, movies—even exercise. I’d lain completely still and counted increasingly demented looking sheep who sniggered at me while they jumped over flaming pits. What was left?

Other times when it had been this bad I’d considered going to a doctor and getting some medication for insomnia. But the thought of answering a doctor’s questions, of the weight of their regard, and the unspoken thoughts behind their eyes was always enough to keep me away. 

I knew for a fact that they could help me. I just didn’t want to pay that price.

What I really needed was something to shut my brain up—it was the real reason I couldn’t fall asleep. I needed something to deaden my thoughts—or better yet, overwhelm it and force it into sleep. Prescribed medication from a doctor was out of the question, but it occurred to me that the poor man’s cure might work just as well for me in this case.

Alcohol. Lovely, old fashioned, completely natural alcohol. 

The only problem was that there wasn’t any left in the house. I’m not a big drinker at the best of times, and what with my unstable nature of late I thought it better not to have too much around just in case I started to ‘seek comfort at the bottom of a bottle,’ as they sometimes say.

So to procure my sweet release I’d have to leave the house.

Go out in public. Like this. 

Jesus wept.

Driving was not a good idea right now.

Neither was staying in this state for who knows how much longer.

Hey-ho, how bad could it be?

Don’t say that, Lily. Don’t ever say that.

I summoned up every last bit of strength and stubbornness I possessed to go upstairs and get properly dressed—as well as cover over the bruises on my neck with some hastily applied make-up to forestall questions of why I looked like I’d lost a fight with Darth Vader.

Once back downstairs I left Bucky a brief note to say that I would be out for a short jaunt, then I got into my car and drove off to town.

I honestly don’t know how I managed to get safely to the Package store and back again. I really don’t. By all rights I probably should have been pulled over for erratic driving as well as endangering others, but either I wasn’t swerving as much as I thought I was or all the cops were on the other side of town.

Once I was home again I could barely wait until I was inside to open up a bottle and take a deep gulp. My system wasn’t as eager as my mind, however, and my second swig had to wait until my coughing fit ended. I’m not much of a drinker and I’ve always been a bit of a light-weight even when I’m not sleep deprived (interesting fact, did you know that after a full 24 hours of not sleeping you are at the same level of impairment as if you were legally drunk? Add in at least 36 more hours and you’re looking at some pretty messed up thinking and physical reactions).

It only took half of that first cider to relax my muscles and start my head swimming in a far more pleasant way than it had for the last three days.

I couldn’t bear to go upstairs yet (too much time spent agonizing in that room to make me feel comfortable relaxing in it) so I put my ipod in the dock and pressed play. My music was still on shuffle so it became rather like a musical adventure that my hazy mind found more funny than obnoxious. Thank God for the existence of alcohol.

The bottle was almost finished when I heard a car in my driveway. Even half-drunk as I was I felt an unpleasant lurch in my stomach and dashed to the front door to determine who it was and whether I should pretend to not be at home. 

My shoulders drooped further when I recognized the car and the person driving it. Technically I could still pretend to not be at home, but Laura was a friend—a good one—and she didn’t deserve that.

A noise behind me made me turn. It was Bucky.

‘Who’s there?’ He was agitated but trying not to show it.

‘An old friend. Haven’t seen her in a while. Must be worried about me to just drop in like this.’ I shook my head in an attempt to clear it and force my thoughts to move faster. I took a quick look around the kitchen. There was nothing out of place to suggest two people were living here. ‘Look, I promised I wouldn’t say anything, all right? If you go wait downstairs and stay quiet she’ll never know you’re here.’

He nodded tensely then disappeared back downstairs just as Laura knocked at the front door. I waited a moment then opened it and tried to smile. It wasn’t one of my best efforts ever. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey yourself, Lily. Now let me in and give me a hug.’ She pushed her way into the house and gave me a hug made awkward by her advanced state of pregnancy. Three months ago at the funeral she hadn’t been nearly so big. My smile turned genuine for a moment as I looked down at her.

‘You look ready to pop, you know.’

‘Ugh, don’t I know it. I am so tired of being pregnant, and I’ve got almost a month to go.’ She rolled her eyes at this but I could see her taking in all the details of the room at the same time: clean dishes in the rack, fairly clean kitchen, cookies tins out, as well as my almost finished cider bottle. She was also examining me too. I doubt I measured up half as well as my kitchen did and I sent up many silent prayers of thanks that I’d covered my bruises with make-up before I went out earlier. There would have been no slipping that past Laura and she would have had most of the story out of me before I could blink—even despite my promise. 

‘You look like Hell, Lily.’ She said bluntly. 

I shrugged in reply. ‘I’ve felt better.’

Her eyes flickered to the cider bottle and I moved quickly to squash that thought. ‘No, Laura. I haven’t been drinking. Well, yes, I’ve been drinking that one but that’s the first in a long time I promise.’

‘Sorry, Lily, I didn’t mean to—‘

‘Yeah you did, Laura,’ I said with a small huff of amusement. ‘You’re a good friend so of course you meant it.’ I walked over to the table and took another sip of the cider. My ipod continued to play wildly assorted tracks, trading West Side Story for some bagpipes. I turned the music down a little. ‘Come on in, you should probably sit down. Do you want some water?’

‘I’ll get it. You should be the one sitting. You’re about to fall over.’

I wanted to argue but she wasn’t far wrong. The cider had gone to my head and I was swaying a little. So I sat and waited for her to join me. She spoke first, ‘What’s going on, Lily?’

Ha. Where to begin? Leaving out the scary man living in my basement of course. 

‘Haven’t slept in a few days. I’m trying an alternate approach,’ I raised the bottle to swallow the last bit of cider.

‘Lily…’

‘Laura…’ I mimicked. 

She smiled sardonically. ‘You should have called me.’

Yeah. Maybe I should have. But I didn’t, because I didn’t want to talk. How do you tell that to someone you’ve been friends with since kindergarten?

‘I’m okay.’ Her eyebrows lifted in clear denial of this. ‘I didn’t say I’m great. Most of the time I’m doing a lot better than this. Promise. You just caught me on a bad day.’

‘Bad several days.’

‘Well, yeah. This sort of sleep deprivation doesn’t happen all at once. You need to work at it.’ My small bit of humor fell pretty flat. I was wishing I hadn’t had that cider at all. To deal with Laura I needed my brain and that was rapidly fogging over. Or maybe I should just have more cider until it all stopped working and I didn’t have to worry about it anymore.

‘What’s going on, Laura? It’s good to see you, but you could have called. Or sent me an e-mail if you were just worried about me.’

‘Would you have answered?’

She had me there. ‘Maybe.’

‘See? That’s why I’m here. I know you.’

‘You do.’

‘And I figured…’ she trailed off, fighting with herself for the words to say next. ‘I wanted to see if you were up for going with me tomorrow night.’

‘Go where?’ She’d said ‘tomorrow’ like I should know what it was. What was tomorrow anyway?

‘The reunion. Our reunion.’ 

Realization hit me like a face plant. Oh no. Oh no no no. I started to shake my head but Laura jumped on top of whatever I might have said. ‘I know it’s not the best idea, but we promised to go together and I know that was last year when we promised, but you’ve been in this house too long, Lily. You need to get out for something. And…I’d really like you to be there with me. I don’t want to go without you.’

I continued to shake my head in disbelief. ‘You won’t be alone. You’ve got Charlie to go with you. I’m sure he won’t mind—‘

‘I want you there, Lily.’

‘At our high school reunion? This is one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had. I can’t do it. I can’t. I’m not going.’

Laura wasn’t going to accept defeat easily, if at all. ‘Please, Lily. It’s just one night. We’ll see our old school—‘

‘Our old enemies.’

‘Well, maybe. Surely some of them have grown up since then.’

I tried to level her with a stare. It didn’t work as well as I might have hoped. My eyes were having trouble focusing.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Laura said persuasively. ‘We’ll go, have a chat and a laugh with people we knew a long time ago, have some bad food, dance to some bad music, and go home and thank God we didn’t grow up to be like them.’

A small smile quirked the corner of my mouth. Those were nearly the same words I’d used to describe the reunion one year ago when Laura and I were trying to decide whether or not to go. But no matter how good she could make it sound I knew it would be infinitely worse. So much worse.

‘Laura, I’m not up for it. I don’t—I’m not…I can’t see all those people like I am now. Everything that’s happened to me—honestly, if you were trying to plan the worst high school reunion ever you couldn’t do worse than this. Everyone will know about me—everyone. They’ll all be,’ I made a face, ‘sympathetic. And they’ll ask how I am, and what I’m doing now. Dear God, Laura! How could this turn out any way but awful?’

Laura got out of her chair with a bit of tight-lipped heaving and walked around to the back of my chair where she draped her arms around my shoulders and rested her cheek against the top of my head.

‘You’ll have me. And Charlie. We’ll drive all the horribly sympathetic people away and make sure you have a good time.’

I snorted at ‘good time.’

‘Well, make sure you don’t have a bad time.’ That was more likely.

‘It’s not just that. I don’t want to see anyone.’

‘I know. You never do. You’ll hide in your hole forever if someone doesn’t drag you out. And I know this is different from all those other times. I’m sorry, Lily. I really am. But you always told me to keep pushing at you when you turn hermit, that you appreciated it eventually even when you grumbled.’

She had me dead to rights. And she was right. I always had been grumpily grateful when she pulled me kicking and screaming out of my hole before. But this was different. I had nothing left inside me to give to other people, even for one night. I had no energy for pleasantries and niceties. I was far more likely just to scream at all of them that yes my family was dead and I felt awful about it and could you please stop bringing it up?

I wish I was brave enough to do something like that.

‘Laura…’

‘Lily…’ she mimicked me back. There’s nothing quite as awful as a friend you hate to disappoint. But I forced the words out anyway.

‘I can’t. I’m a wreck and I can’t.’ 

She sighed and I felt her breath ruffle my hair. Oh no. Please don’t do this Laura. Please. But she was going to. I could feel it. I knew her just as well as she knew me, we’d been friends so long. 

Laura was always the more adventurous of the two of us. She was more outspoken, more sociable, and certainly more noticeable. But for all that she was just as likely to hide from confrontation as I was, maybe even more so. High school had been completely awful for the two of us, but I’d managed all right with just her as my friend. Mostly the bullies left me alone because I pretended not to care about them. But Laura…they were like vultures on her corpse. I’d done what I could to help her, but I always preferred hiding. Laura wasn’t good at hiding, and they’d made her life Hell on Earth.

Laura hadn’t wanted to go to the reunion at first. Hadn’t wanted to reopen all those old wounds, see all her tormentors grown up and prosperous. I hadn’t exactly convinced her to go, but I’d told her we’d be there together. Her, me, and Charlie. She wouldn’t be alone.

‘Please Lily,’ she said. ‘I need you there. Yeah I’ve got Charlie but he wasn’t there back then. You know how it was. You were always so good at ignoring them and…and…staring them down. I’m worried that when I step back in that school I’ll forget that I’m grown up, married, and about to have a kid. I’m scared I’ll forget that I’m me now, and not her.’

I lifted my hands to cover hers. ‘Kind of hard to forget you’re pregnant, you know. You might even be able to baby-bash those haters out of your way now, you’re so big.’

‘Lily!’

‘I know, I know.’ God save me. I’m so tired. If I was less tired, less drunk, less everything maybe I could think of a way to say no to her. But she’s my friend and she needs me. ‘I could hate you for this.’

‘I know.’

‘I don’t even have a dress.’

‘Buy a new one.’

‘Right. Good idea. Go shopping. Ugh. I thought you knew me.’

‘Don’t be so dramatic.’ 

I growled at her.

‘See? Exactly what I mean.’ Laura tightened her arms around me before letting go. ‘Charlie and I can pick you up, if you want.’ 

‘Oh, I do want. What time?’

‘The dinner’s at 6:30. So a little before that.’

‘Okay. Fine. I’ll be ready.’ I tried to smile at her but I felt far more like crying.

She saw of course. She hauled me to my feet and hugged me as hard as she could. ‘It’ll be all right. I promise.’

I whispered into her shoulder, ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep.’ She didn’t respond.

I saw her to the door. ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to say no if you came in person, didn’t you.’

‘Lily, I love you, you know that.’

‘Yeah, yeah. Save it.’ My smile was a little better this time, but nowhere near as big or as bright as hers. I’d made her so happy. I liked that, I really did. I just wish she hadn’t come by today.

‘Bye.’

‘Bye.’ We hugged, I closed the door, she drove away. On my ipod Steven Curtis Chapman was singing cheerfully about falling in love. I skipped to the next song. U2. Now that was better.

Bucky came upstairs just in time to see me gulp down a fresh cider. Hey, why not have two? The one might have been enough but after seeing Laura and promising to join her for one truly hellish night I could use a second. 

‘You want one?’ I offered. He shook his head no. 

‘Did everything go well?’ His choice of words was so cautious, his voice so deliberately even—and I was so tired and drunk and emotionally overwrought—that it was very hard not to burst into hysterical laughter.

I settled for taking another sip of cider. I had to steady myself against a counter when the room swayed around me. ‘Oh yeah. Everything’s great. No worries.’

Bucky stared at me. He wanted me to explain. I could tell. No such luck, mister. You wanted solitude and separation: you’re going to get it.

‘Nothing to do with you.’ I finally said. No reason to get the poor guy in a twist. ‘She was just worried about me.’ I did laugh at that. Black, humorless laughter, but laughter. 

His eyes searched mine, then scanned over the rest of me. A brow twitched. Great. Now even one-armed amnesiac psycho soldier man was worried about me. I turned away to sit back down near my ipod. Sunday Bloody Sunday was a good song, even if it was ending.

Bucky sighed behind me. This was what you wanted, Bucky. Remember that. I heard his foot on the top of the stairs but it didn’t go any further. Just leave me alone, Bucky. I’m not worth your time. Fix yourself, don’t worry about me. I drank some more cider. The bottle was nearly empty and my head was spinning like a slow carousel.

‘What song is that?’

‘Huh?’ I asked inelegantly. What song? The U2? No, it was a different song now. ‘Sounds like Billie Holiday,’ I slur a little. 

‘I know that song.’ Bucky sounded very intense, even a little excited.

‘It’s a good song.’ I said. I happened to like Billie Holiday a lot, and ‘I’m Gonna Lock My Heart,’ was one of her fun numbers. You could almost see the big band behind her and imagine fast-paced 40’s kids swinging around the dance floor.

Bucky left the doorway and sat down next to me. Huh. I guess he really likes it. We sat there and listened to the whole song. Bucky was visibly disappointed when my ipod shuffled onto my Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack. 

‘Do you want to listen to it again?’ I asked. He nodded agitatedly. My hands were pretty numb but I forced my fingers to work and my eyes to focus on the small screen. I took it off shuffle to access all my Billie Holiday, but my vision started to blur pretty badly and I couldn’t read the track listings. I passed it to Bucky. ‘Here, you find it.’

He took it but didn’t do anything with it, he just stared at it. His face flickered from annoyance to frustration to downright need.

‘What’s wrong?’ I managed to say after downing almost the last of my cider.

‘I’ve never used this before.’

‘Oh. Bother. ‘M sorry, I didn’t realize, here—‘ I motioned for him to hand it back. ‘Look, it’s a touch screen. You just press the song you want to hear. An’ you can scroll up and down the list by sliding your finger here.’

‘What’s that do?’ Bucky pointed to the button on the bottom.

‘Takes you back to the main screen. If that happens don’t worry, just find the music icon and press it. It’ll get to back to here.’ Bucky took the ipod from my hands and clumsily scrolled through the list before finding the song. He pressed it and ‘I’m Gonna Lock My Heart’ started to play out of its tiny speakers. 

‘Here,’ I motioned to the dock, and took the ipod back to place it in the cradle. The music now came out of those speakers instead. I could see Bucky analyzing what I’d just done so he could repeat it. 

It was a bit odd to me that he couldn’t remember how to use an ipod—I didn’t think memory loss worked like that—but what did I know? He’d pick it up. It wasn’t hard.

This time when the song ended it automatically started to play the rest of the album. I drained the last of my cider and decided that since Bucky was happily occupied and I was properly medicated, maybe now was a good time to get some sleep. I stood up and steadied myself against the table as the world rocked dangerously.

‘G’night.’ I managed to say. He nodded at me. I took one step away from the table and its steadying influence and found myself falling, falling, falling…


	9. Chapter 9

The best part about the next 22 hours is that I was unconscious for them.

The worst part about those 22 hours was waking up and remembering what came before.

Not only had I been suckered into attending my tenth year high school reunion, but I’d also made a royal fool out of myself in front of Bucky. I don’t get drunk very often (honestly, hardly ever. It never feels worth it) and never in front of other people—I have control issues, all right?—so practically passing out in front of the stranger who’s living in my basement was a depth never before descended to by me.

What was even worse was what he did next. 

I wasn’t completely unconscious (just mostly. Gah) so I vaguely remembered him bursting up from his chair and catching me before I hit the ground. My head was so dizzy I still felt like I was falling and it took until we were halfway up the stairs for me to realize what was happening. And once I did I started mumbling about how sorry I was, which fairly predictably, he didn’t reply to. He laid me down in my bed and the last thing I remember before fully passing out was a slight tug on my feet as he took my shoes off.

The headache I was feeling from my drunken dehydration was pretty bad. But it was the shame that was going to kill me, I just knew it.

Luckily I had too much to do to dwell on it. For now. After guzzling copious amounts of water and practically drowning myself under gallons more while showering, I sped out the front door to go shopping. 

Huzzah.

Luckily the Salvation Army two towns over managed to supply all my needs in under an hour. I’d found a dress that was vaguely 50’s-ish and wasn’t either too dressy or too casual, and shoes to match. The dress was deep red with little white polka dots and slightly off the shoulder sleeves, and the shoes were white heeled and super comfortable. It was a miracle, and for under $10 too. I was expecting it all to take a lot longer so I took a few minutes to pick up some extra clothes for Bucky. You know, just a nice leather jacket, a couple button down shirts, two nice vests, three ties, two pairs of pants (much closer to his actual size even if I was estimating) a belt, some t-shirts, and a pair of tight gloves. Completely normal things to buy for the inscrutable but sometimes nice and always intimidating man living in my basement.

I still had oodles of extra time so I splurged on a hair dresser and requested an updo reminiscent of a 40’s pin-up girl to match the dress. Retro is in, donchaknow. The hair dresser gave me some odd looks but I didn’t realize until after that she could see all my neck bruises, as I’d scrubbed off all the make-up in the shower. Which made me send up fervent prayers of thanks that Laura hadn’t seen them yesterday. She would never have kept quiet about them like that hairdresser. Eeek.

I was absolutely starving when I got home so I wolfed down some leftovers and ran upstairs to finish getting ready. It was going to take a while to do my make-up. 

And I wasn’t nearly as worried about my face as my neck.

If I got my face slightly wrong, all anyone would think was that I was bad at doing make-up. Which they would be pretty right about.

If I got my neck wrong, they’d be asking who’d been choking me and why. Shudder.

After laying my base coat and some blush and bronzer my neck looked like…a neck. Which was all that I wanted. I hurried onto my face and against my normal inclination for subtle coloring I amped it up a bit, hoping that everyone would look at my eyeshadow and not anywhere else. It actually came out pretty nice. Shocker.

I slipped into my dress and shoes and checked my watch: 5:45. Laura and Charlie would be here soon. I inhaled deeply and tried to calm my jitters. I was only partially successful. I did not want to be doing this. I had a sinking feeling that this would all go horribly wrong somehow and the last thing I wanted to do was walk straight into a bad situation. But I’d promised Laura I would and I can’t back out on a promise.

I grabbed the bag of clothes I’d bought for Bucky and headed to the basement. I should at least tell him what was going on, and I could give him the clothes at the same time.

He actually opened his door before I had a chance to knock. Music drifted out of the room and I realized that he had appropriated my ipod and the speakers. Bucky seemed taken aback by my appearance. He blinked, then flicked his eyes all over me.

‘Hey,’ I said, swallowing nervously.

‘What’s the occasion?’

‘Oh. Right. High school reunion.’ I breathed deeply to calm myself. 

He cocked his head. ‘Everything all right?’

I laughed half-heartedly. ‘Not really. Parties aren’t really my thing.’

‘Then why go?’

‘I made a promise. To Laura—she was the one who came here yesterday. She and Charlie’ll be picking me up soon.’ I wanted to make a joke about how they were only picking me up to make sure I showed up, but I didn’t know how so I shoved the bag at him instead. 

‘Here, I got you some clothes. I think they’ll fit.’

He nodded seriously as he took the bag, but the corner of his eyes crinkled a little. ‘Like last time?’

That made me smile. ‘Better than last time, I hope. And in better colors too.’ I didn’t want to see his reaction to what I’d bought (I had no idea of his sense of style and who knew what he’d make of those vests) so I stepped back and said, ‘Well, I better wait upstairs. I don’t think they’ll come in the house but, well, you know the drill. We’ll probably be back late.’ I grimaced and turned to go.

‘Lily. You look swell. Really swell.’

My heart nearly stopped. Mr. Scary Face was giving me compliments? I looked back at him in shock but I could see that he meant it. He might have said it to be nice but he still meant it. ‘I—thanks.’ I brushed at the skirt and smiled carefully. ‘Best outfit ten dollars can buy.’

Bucky came out of his room a little and leaned against the doorframe. ‘No, not the dress. You.’ And he smiled. It was a little reserved, but his eyes held me steadily and I got the feeling he’d been a bit of a charmer, once upon a time. He’d said it confidently too. More confidently than he’d said much of anything else—like he could actually remember what pretty girls looked like, and I measured up. I also got the feeling he was trying to reassure me. How odd. This was the most human conversation we’d had. Why now of all times? Maybe he felt better after seeing me pass out. For some reason.

I blushed. Fair skin really is a curse sometimes. I didn’t know what to say. I’ve never gotten that many compliments in my life and I don’t know how to deal with them other than shrugging them off. When you’ve learned to live without something for so long it doesn’t feel necessary anymore. But I’d tried shrugging him off and he’d come back with a bigger and better one. 

And he’d smiled. 

Bucky only smiled for sugar and a kid’s movie.

And now me. 

‘I don’t want to go.’ I blurted out. Bucky shifted his weight back to his feet. ‘This—all this? It’s just costuming. Armor. It’s not—I mean, I’m not—‘ I winced and cut myself off before I could make a bigger fool out of myself. ‘Thank you.’ I said sincerely, trying to convey how much I meant it. Run away, run away, the embarrassment elephant approacheth. I tried to leave but he stopped me again.

‘You’re going to knock ‘em dead.’ 

A breath of laughter escaped me. ‘Oh I wish.’ Oh how I wish.

If they were dead, I wouldn’t have to talk to them.

At that moment we both heard a knock on the door upstairs. Bucky’s face wiped itself clean and that strange little moment was over. I nodded goodbye and he disappeared back into his room. I heard him shut the music off and for a second I felt completely alone.

But Bucky’s nice words had calmed me down like nothing else had and I climbed those stairs feeling much better than I had ten minutes ago. 

I opened the front door to see the back of a very well dressed Charlie as he waved patience at Laura who was still in the car. He turned sheepishly to me.

‘Hey, Lil.’

‘Hey, Charlie.’ We hugged. I did my best not to smear my makeup on his suit but what’s the point of a hug if you don’t put your body into it? We eventually pulled back but Charlie kept his hands on my arms.

‘Look at you, are you trying to get me into trouble with Laura?’

‘Only if you do more than look.’ I snarked back at him. We both smiled but he could see mine was less than steady.

‘It’s going to be all right, Lil. I promise.’

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ I said automatically. 

‘Lil—‘

‘Please, Charlie. Can I not pretend that I’m going out to have a good time? Because I can’t see how this night’s going to be anything but hellish.’

Charlie’s a good sort. One of the best, actually. So he nodded and held out his arm for me to take as he escorted me to the car. Laura would have tried to make me feel better. Charlie just squeezed my hand and winked as he handed me into the car. Laura—despite her enormous stomach—was practically bouncing in the front seat as she turned around to face me.

‘Well don’t you look gorgeous!’

‘Salvation Army is my friend.’

‘How much?’

‘Ten dollars, shoes included.’ I put one up on the center console and Laura duly admired it. Charlie got back into the car and we were on our way to a night of unbelievable torture and horror, all in the name of reconnecting with our fellow classmates.

I do believe there should be a special place in Hell for the person who invented the high school reunion. Someplace where he would have to talk to an endless succession of people whom he couldn’t remember interspersed with people he wished he could forget, while horrible covers of songs he never liked anyway played in the background. For all eternity.

Oh, and the buffet would always run out of the one tolerable food just as he got to it.

Imagining hellish torments for this unknown man kept me steady until we got to the school. 

All the lights were on outside and there was this incredibly tacky banner that shrieked ‘WELCOME BACK CLASS OF ’04.’ A strange red blob took up one corner and I frowned.

‘Is that supposed to be the mascot?’

‘Where?’ Laura asked.

‘Right there on the banner. It looks more like a decapitated frog.’

‘Eew, you’re right. What happened to the old mascot?’

‘They changed it,’ Charlie chimed in. 

‘What?’ Laura and I both said at the same time.

‘Don’t you ever read those notices they send out? They changed it two years ago. They held a vote to get rid of Lucky because he wasn’t PC enough.’

‘Charlie,’ I said, ‘No one reads those notices.’

‘Oh, he does.’ Said Laura with grim humor. ‘What is that thing supposed to be, anyway?’

‘A salamander.’

‘No way,’ I said. ‘Like a fiery salamander?’

‘Nope. Just a plain old salamander.’

‘Please tell me its name isn’t Sal. Or Sally.’

Charlie avoided looking in my direction.

‘Charlie?’

‘Hey look, a parking spot.’

I slumped back into my seat. ‘Nice avoidance there.’

‘Thank you, I thought it was one of my best yet.’ We parked and Charlie rushed out of his seat to open Laura’s door and help her out. I could finally see her dress and it was impressively nice for a maternity gown. Silvery green fabric gathered over one shoulder and bias cut seams ran around the dress drawing attention away from her stomach and towards the floofy skirt that aired out a little as she walked. 

Charlie opened my door and his eyes crinkled in sympathy as he put out his hand. I thought about not taking it and just staying in the car. Laura must have heard me thinking.

‘You promised, Lily.’

‘Yeah, yeah yeah.’ I said as I hopped out. ‘I’m here. Now can I go home?’ As a joke it fell flat. I meant it too much.

Laura linked her arm in mine to keep me from running away. Insane calculations danced through my head: if I grabbed the keys from Charlie I might be able to make it back into the car in time to lock the doors and keep them from dragging me out…I sighed. It would never work. Laura’s death grip on my arm was too strong to break without seriously hurting her and I’d promised to be here. I’d promised.

Maybe if I kept reminding myself of that things would get better.

Ha.

Charlie ushered us inside and into Hell on Earth.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains violence and attempted rape/non-con.

My problem with reunions is that you haven’t seen most of these people in ten years and people can change a lot in that time—not to mention change names and have families that you know nothing about. So how can you tell who’s just a spouse and who was someone who stole your lunch when you were seven? 

There was a table set up with name cards that was resided over by a perky member of our graduating class who I could barely recall the name of but who seemed intent on ‘remembering’ everyone who walked up to her.

‘Oh, Lucy! It’s so good to see you again! Was it really graduation the last time we saw each other?’

‘Robbie. Or do you prefer Robert now? And who’s this? You got married? Congratulations!’

‘Miranda, darling! I’m so glad you could make it. How were the Caymans this year?’

I pulled Laura closer to me and whispered in her ear, ‘If she tries to pretend that she knows me I’m going to punch her right on her perky little nose.’

Laura giggled nervously and whispered back, ‘As if you would. Don’t you remember her? It’s Martha.’

‘No. Martha? Wow. She looks…um…’

‘Like the product of a union between plastic surgery and botox.’

‘Laura! I’m so very glad to hear you say that.’ We smirk to each other and prepare to greet perky Martha who had delighted in ignoring us both all throughout school. Charlie crowded our backs and pressed moral support on the both of us before shifting himself to stand more behind Laura as he should. I wasn’t his wife after all.

Martha looked up at us and behind her thickly applied smile I could see her eyes blank as she tried to remember who we were. I’ve always been too nice for my own good so I spoke up. ‘Hello Martha. It’s Lily Schild.’

Cue the expected overly familiar response of, ‘Lily! So good to see you! I haven’t seen you in such a long time.’ She handed me my name tag and turned to Laura and Charlie. ‘Laura Baker—‘

‘Actually it’s Laura Freeman now,’ interrupted Charlie.

Martha’s smile froze. ‘Of course. Now, here are your nametags and you can just wander straight to the gym. Just follow the music!’

We all smiled horrendous smiles back at her and scooted out of the way of the people behind us.

‘Bitch,’ Charlie growled over his shoulder, just loud enough to make Laura and I giggle hysterically. He leaned in close to Laura. ‘I be she was a bitch back then and it seems she hasn’t changed at all. Don’t worry. You’re worth ten of her.’ He kissed the top of her head and she leaned into his shoulder. Laura still had hold of my arm though and she gave it a shake.

‘See. I told you you wouldn’t punch her.’

‘The night isn’t over yet.’

The gym was decorated like a bad 80’s prom. I don’t know why. We were hardly alive during the 80’s. Music blared out of the speakers at one end of the gym making conversation difficult to say the least. I huddled with Laura and Charlie and tried not to feel like a third wheel. There were far more people than I was expecting to see. Doesn’t everybody have lives? Didn’t most of you move far away? Why are you here?

On our way to a table off to the side we were intercepted by a tall balding man and his wife. ‘Laura? Is that you?’

Laura was startled. ‘Mike? Mike Mitchell?’ Now it was my turn to be surprised. Mike had been one of the tolerably nice people in school but he never had much to do with us. After graduation he’d gone out to California and this was the first I’d heard of him since then.

‘The very same. How are you?’ Mike hugged her awkwardly. 

‘I’m doing great. This is my husband Charlie.’ Charlie and Mike shook hands manfully.

‘And this is my wife Esther,’ Charlie introduced the woman at his side.

‘Hello,’ she smiled genially with a little wave. She looked toward me. ‘And who are you?’

‘Oh, hi. I’m Lily.’

‘Nice to meet you Lily.’

‘And you.’ 

By this point Mike was staring at me like he’d been hit over the head with a two by four. ‘Lily?’

‘Yes.’ I laughed nervously. ‘It’s me.’

‘Wow. I mean, you still look like you but I’d never have guessed…’ 

What on earth is that supposed to mean, I wondered to myself. Either I look like me and you should recognize me, or I don’t look like me and you shouldn’t have. Make up your mind. 

But Mike was a decent guy so I tried to be nice and just smiled at him instead.

That was the start of the most uncomfortable two hours I’ve spent in a long, long time. Despite having lived in California for most of the last 10 years, Mike had kept in touch with people and was more than happy to reintroduce us to, well, everyone. He kept hailing new people and dragging them into our little group and each time he did we had to reintroduce ourselves and cue appropriate faces of surprise as we examine each other and remember who we were. Also cue questions on jobs, families, vacations, white picket fences and our 2.5 children. 

Easy there Lily. Your cynicism is showing.

I tried to stay out of it but it wasn’t easy. Each person who reassessed me as ‘Grown Up Lily’ got a certain look in their eyes which, depending on the person, was either surprise or dislike. And those who had stayed local were all too ready to offer me sympathy for what had happened to my family—which set off numerous rounds of questions and explanations for those who didn’t know and who now felt obligated to console me even though I barely knew them from Adam. 

After the first few times I felt like ripping their throats out. Then they couldn’t talk to me anymore. Each expression of sympathy weighed me down a little more than the one before until I was surprised I didn’t sink all the way into the floor. But I kept my smile on and tried to be polite. Most of them meant well. I think.

Laura and Charlie did their best to shield me but I think Laura felt relieved that all the attention wasn’t on her. And besides, there were a lot of wives there who were happy to talk about pregnancy and children with her which kept her out of the cattishness taking place elsewhere.

Charlie fetched Laura and me drinks but I barely sipped at mine. It made a convenient excuse to delay a response or hide a grimace when someone asked me about my family or how my job was.

For a brief moment I wondered how shocked everyone would be if I told them that my job was taking care of an amnesiac violent one armed soldier who lived in my basement. Maybe they would leave me alone then. Hmm…

But before I did more than contemplate it, Charlie whisked me out onto the dance floor.

‘You looked like you could use a break.’

‘Break? How about an escape. As in, run away with me right now and I’ll bless your name for ever. There might even be hot grateful sex involved.’

Charlie pretended to consider it. ‘Well, you are very pretty…but Laura would hate being left out of our plans to run away. And the hot sex. 

‘I think,’ he said in a more serious tone, ‘she might actually be enjoying herself.’

We twirled around and looked at Laura as she talked energetically with five women I didn’t know. ‘I think you’re right. No one’s bringing up the past—at least not yet.’

‘Heh. Just wait until people have a little more to drink.’

‘Don’t remind me. It’s bad enough right now.’

‘Are you okay, Lily?’

‘It’s all right,’ I lied. 

‘I thought you weren’t going to pretend.’

‘What do you want to hear Charlie? The truth?’

‘Why not?’

‘Oh, lots of reasons. Most of them being we’d be dancing for the rest of the night if I tried to tell you all of them.’ I said lightly.

‘How about just one reason then.’

One reason. Ha. How to choose? ‘I don’t like the way they look at me.’

‘Like they’re surprised how you’ve changed?’

‘No. Well, a little. I don’t like being stared at. But that’s only some of them. The rest are all sympathetic because of my family and even when they don’t say anything you can still see it on their faces. And the men stare like they haven’t seen a girl in makeup before and the women might as well be hissing at me to stay away. Seriously Charlie this dress is not that pretty. What is wrong with them?’

Charlie only laughed at me.

‘This isn’t funny, stop that.’ I hit him on the shoulder.

‘All right, all right, it is a little.’

‘I’ll hit you again.’

‘Anything but that.’ We twirled around a little more before he spoke again. ‘You know how you’ve talked about your good genes from your mother’s side?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well they’re really good genes. You could be at least five years younger than most of the people here.’

‘Oh come on.’

‘No really. Everyone else is shoring themselves up with makeup and facelifts—‘

‘We’re not even thirty, no one’s got a facelift—

‘Yes they do, but you don’t and you look just as good. In fact, I bet you never looked this good in high school.’ He punctuated his point by picking me up and spinning me around.

I laughed involuntarily. ‘No. I didn’t care in high school.’

‘See?’

‘No not really.’

‘Don’t be deliberately obtuse.’

‘Okay fine. The truth: I deliberately dressed up extra pretty tonight to try and distract everyone from the fact that my family is dead and I don’t have a job or a life but it’s obviously not working because now people are all talking about my lack of family, job, life—and how pretty I am. How’s that?’

The song ended and Charlie looked abashed. ‘That…wasn’t really what I meant. Lily—‘

‘Please. Just don’t.’ 

He sighed and led me back to Laura. She and the other mothers were still chatting happily about infant care and sleeping positions and how long to breastfeed. Charlie beat a strategic retreat on the pretext of fetching us all some food from the buffet. I almost joined him but I didn’t feel like braving the people. At least here I could stay mostly silent and just nod every once in a while.

Charlie brought back our food and almost instantly got sucked into a strange discussion about Washington DC by some of the men and a few of the women. It sounded interesting—or at least, more interesting than what I was doing (which was nothing with a capital N). I wasn’t really sure what they were talking about and I had a feeling that if I’d been paying attention to current events I would know what was going on. But I hadn’t been and now seemed like a really bad time to ask ‘so, what happened?’ I’d probably get seven horrified looks and a strange garbled explanation. No thanks. I filed away the few snippets I could hear so I could look them up later. Something involving a collapse of…a shield? Is that a company? And something about secrets released wholesale on the internet. Huh. It sure has everyone riled up. Secrets usually do.

I ate my food and tried to look like I didn’t care that I wasn’t talking to anyone, that in fact I would far prefer to just eat in silence.

Just like high school.

As I finished I felt someone over my shoulder and I looked quizzically at them.

‘Lily? Is it really Lily?’

Now this was someone I recognized. Peter Carson had been one of the school’s popular kids. He hadn’t done sports but he’d excelled in music, art, drama, and he was unfairly charismatic to boot. Far too good looking even as an awkward teenager, he wore his extra ten years well. I’d been on the outskirts of the theater program so it wasn’t too surprising that he knew my name—only a little surprising he’d come up to talk to me.

‘Hello Peter,’ I replied. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine, I’m doing fine, I—do you mind if I sit down?’

‘No, go right ahead.’ He did, setting a drink on the table in front of him.

‘God, Lily. You look incredible. Retro looks good on you.’

‘Thanks,’ I laugh uncomfortably. ‘That is one fine fitting suit, if I may say so. Tailored?’

‘Actually, yes. Good eye.’ He toasted me with his glass and drank. ‘Not many people here would catch that.’

‘Oh I don’t know. They probably just wouldn’t mention it.’

‘No, I don’t think so. So what have you been doing that you could recognize superior tailoring when you see it?’ He waggled his eyebrows and gave me a dazzling smile. Ah Peter. You haven’t changed much. Still needing constant strokes to your ego.

‘I wish I could say that I apprenticed myself to a secretive master suit maker ten years ago and now I continue his tradition of silent and professional tailoring, but alas. I decided to be an English major instead. Work can be a little hard to come by.’ I hoped he was savvy and kind enough to take the hint. 

‘A secretive master suit maker? I like the sound of that.’ He laughed and took another gulp of his drink. ‘You always did have a great imagination.’

I gave him a puzzled look. ‘How would you know that? We hardly ever talked.’

‘Oh, everyone knew. You were always so quiet but the couple of times someone could get you to relax and open your mouth you were always funny. And there was that thing you did Junior year, what was it…’ He trailed off and finished his drink while musing over memories. 

‘Junior year?’

‘Yeah, Junior year. That poem thing!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘You read a poem in assembly that one time. That was killer.’ He smiled that dazzling smile again.

‘Wow, Peter. I’m surprised you remembered that. It was hardly all that good. Nowhere near as good as some of the stuff you did. Are you still acting?’

‘Nah, couldn’t make that work. I do graphic art freelance for companies.’

‘That’s great. I’m glad that’s going well for you.’ I felt myself relaxing a bit. Peter was easy to talk to and so far he hadn’t pushed any wrong buttons yet. Maybe he wouldn’t. Dear God please. Just one good conversation tonight where I don’t have to be miserable and defensive. Please.

‘Yeah, well. You have to stay current. Follow the market. Stay creative but keep making what people like. It’s really a balance.’

‘I’ll say.’

‘Hey, you want a drink? I’m getting a refill for myself, you want anything?’

‘Actually I could really use a water, if you don’t mind.’

‘Just water?’

‘Yeah. I love it. My one healthy habit.’

‘I’ll say. Be right back.’

Peter winked and headed for the bar set up on the opposite side of the room. I could feel my heart beating just a little bit faster. I never was part of his fan club in school but man he certainly was good-looking.

‘Wow,’ I heard Laura say beside me. ‘Was that Peter Carson?’

‘The one and only.’

‘What did he want?’

I turned to face her. ‘Oh, just chatty I guess. Everything all right?’

Laura’s face lit up with a huge smile. ‘It’s amazing. No one’s been mean to me all night and it’s almost like high school never happened. I’m so glad you convinced me to come to this, Lily.’ She leaned over to kiss my cheek. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well, what are friends for, right?’ We both turned to look at the bar where Peter—drink in hand—was holding forth to a new set of folks. 

‘Was he supposed to bring you something?’

‘Yeah, but it’s no big deal. I just asked for some water.’

‘He should still bring it.’

‘If he does he does,’ I shrugged. ‘Did you see Charlie dance with me earlier? He really is amazing you know.’

‘I reminded him you like to dance.’ Laura smiled impishly.

‘Well thank you for that. It made for probably the best five minutes of the night.’

‘What are friends for?’ We laughed.

‘Pretty women laughing, my favorite thing in all the world.’ It was Peter, back with a bottle of water for me and a fresh glass of something strong for himself.

‘In all the world? That’s a pretty large statement.’ I quipped.

‘Are you sure you don’t like something more? Eating is pretty nice.’ Laura said pseudo-seriously and Peter blinked before throwing his head back and laughing.

‘Oh all right, you’ve got me. Really, what I enjoy most in all the world…’ he trailed off dramatically and leaned in a little closer, ‘is dancing! And I would be the happiest man here if you would dance with me, Lily.’ He held out his hand to me and I could feel a flush rising in my cheeks. It’s odd the things you remember about random people from school, but I knew Peter had been a great dancer and he probably still was. 

And I did so want to dance.

I put my hand in his and rose to my feet. He laughed again, knocked back half his drink before setting it down, then led me to the floor where a slow song had just started playing. 

Peter suavely swung me into a comfortable embrace—not too close, but not loose enough for me to feel at arm’s length. The wattage on his smile turned up and sparked a responding one from me. Some people just have ‘it,’ you know? That magnetic charm, that tug of charisma that almost forces you to like them. Not that you mind all that much—‘it’ is too strong for you to mind. You just end up being happy you’re in their sphere of notice at all.

I tried repeating all of that to myself as a means of keeping my head level but when a good-looking guy sweeps you up in his arms and dances with you like a summer breeze even my common sense was begging to take a hike. 

‘You’re still a really good dancer,’ I said.

‘I try to keep in shape. Take a couple yoga classes, work out in the gym—you know.’ He winked. ‘Gotta stay fit.’

‘True. But you were always good at this.’

‘Always?’ He guided me gently around a giggling couple.

‘Mm-hm. You just always had that knack.’

‘I’ll tell you a secret Lily,’ he leaned in close to whisper in my ear. My cheeks heated up another degree. ‘I used to practice for hours in front of the mirror. Didn’t want to embarrass myself.’

‘Well you never did.’

‘The practice paid off then. Funny story: this one time my mother found me repeating this one dance move over and over—and did she say anything? No. She just stood there with this overly patient look, waiting for me to notice her and when I did I got this full body flush that I know she could see because I was dancing around in my underwear.’

Peter’s tone invited speculation of just what he looked like in his underwear, flushed and a little sweaty from dancing hard.

I became aware that we had slowly been moving closer and closer together—by accident, no doubt—until we were practically pressed up against each other

Now, Peter was a specimen of a man and it was fun to flirt a bit with him, but if I let this go on any longer he was likely to get the wrong idea. 

All this raced through my head and prompted me into sympathetic laughter for his long-ago state, tinged with just a bit of bro-to-bro camaraderie. ‘She should have said something.’

‘She most definitely should have.’

‘Parents, huh?’

‘Oh you know it.’

It was a good thing his face was closer to my right ear than in front of me or he would have seen my smile falter. It was hard to make parent jokes when yours were dead. I didn’t want to stop making them, though. Parents were like that, and mine had been too and I liked remembering them that way. I got my face under control just as Peter pulled back a little to look me soulfully in the eyes. ‘Lily. I know I said this before, but you look amazing tonight.’

‘Thank you.’ I tried to say it in a way that indicated my unwillingness to listen to prolonged compliments. It didn’t work.

‘Seeing you like this, makes it hard to remember that you ever looked any differently.’ He leaned in again, but this time it was clearly a prelude to seeking a kiss.

Oh, fry me in batter and ship me to a state fair. Not this.

I smiled briskly and turned my head to the side as if I hadn’t noticed. Please take the hint, Peter, please take the hint. Don’t make me come out and say ‘go away.’ Neither of us want that. 

‘Oh, I assure you, Peter. Under all this makeup I look just the same as I always did.’

‘I find that hard to believe,’ he whispered sensually in my ear as he trailed one hand up and down my spine. Bother. ‘Maybe you’ll let me see what you look like without…all this…covering you up—just for comparison.’ I could hear him smirk, as well as his implication of ‘all this’ including my clothes. My stomach sank. This was going too far and the likelihood of me getting out of this easily was sinking to nil. How do you stop a man from coming on to you? Especially one, I started to realize from the smell of his breath wafting near me, who was likely half-drunk if not more so.

Blunt. I would have to be blunt, if not flat out rude. I felt like whimpering. I don’t like being rude. But neither do I enjoy being groped.

‘Peter,’ I said as I pulled out of the tight embrace we’d been dancing in for a few minutes. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea.’

His eyes tightened with annoyance that I was balking at his undeniably smooth moves. ‘Why not? Do you have a boyfriend?’

‘No.’

‘A lover?’

‘No. That’s not the point—‘

His arms tightened around me and I knew I would have to do something drastic if I wanted to get out of them. Now that I was paying attention I could see that his eyes were glassy and a trifle unfocused, and the smell of alcohol on his breath was quickly becoming nauseating. How did I not notice this before? Why had I been so intent on seizing the ‘one’ opportunity for fun that I’d ignored several very important warning signs?

Fortunately for my growing state of panic, the slow song ended and was followed by a fast one—too fast for anyone to still be dancing like Peter and I were. Also fortunate was that he wasn’t yet drunk enough to ignore the social cue and keep me in his arms like he clearly wanted to.

I pulled back from him with a relieved smile. ‘Thank you for the dance, Peter. And good luck with your graphic design.’

‘Lily—‘ He tried to lean in close to me but I pretended to be jostled by people standing nearby and slipped away with a huge sigh of relief.

I rejoined Laura and Charlie for a minute but gently deflecting their questions about my dance was exhausting and my shoulders kept prickling like someone was watching me. And when I discreetly looked behind me Peter was back at the bar drinking steadily and staring straight at me. I controlled my shiver but I couldn’t take much more of this. 

‘I’m going to get some air,’ I half-yelled in Laura’s ear.

‘Do you want some company?’

‘No thanks. I’m just going to wander for a minute. Be back soon.’

Laura looked a little concerned but she let me go.

Good. I needed time to myself. I hurried out of the gym and soon found myself meandering through the darkened corridors of my old school. The music from the gym was silenced to a dim throbbing bass and in this quiet and solitude I felt myself relax just the tiniest bit. I felt like kicking myself for my stupidity with Peter, though. Why hadn’t I seen what he was up to? Why hadn’t I been more firm with him? He was a grown man, after all. I’m sure he could have handled any rejection I gave him and by not giving him a firm one I know I was partly responsible for how things turned out. 

What can I say, I’m just not very good with confrontation. Maybe if I’d left Peter some sticky notes this would have turned out better. Ha.

I peered into some of the classrooms I passed and tried their handles. They were all locked. I wasn’t that surprised. The last thing a school must want during a 10th year reunion was the opportunity for privacy for a load of drunken and angsty adults. 

I heard a whisper of sound that might have been a footstep somewhere behind me. I turned around but didn’t see anyone there. Probably just someone else touring the old prison, but unknown sounds always make me nervous. You never know when they’ll turn into something terrifying that rips your skin off and eats you. I mean, your 10th high school reunion was a perfect setting for a horror movie, right? I snorted to myself. Horror movie. Right.

I found myself wishing that Bucky was here. It would be almost reassuring to have him walking by my side, far scarier than any other monsters the darkness might throw at me. 

Ha. Now I feel ‘reassured’ by Bucky’s presence instead of being filled with fear that he would kill me in my sleep. That’s certainly a change. It made sense, though. I might not always know where I stand with him, but I never get the creep factor from him that Peter had been radiating at the end of our dance. Bucky might be unstable but when he was level he was clearly a gentleman. Throat bruises and embarrassing accidents aside, Bucky would never hurt me on purpose. 

Now I could hear footsteps clearly echoing behind me. I made a face in the darkness and hurried toward a hall turning. I didn’t want to see anyone just now. The school was built like a giant square, though, so I tried not to hurry too much. I’d just end up trailing behind someone myself as like as not. The footsteps kept getting louder though, and when I looked over my shoulder to find out who was there I tripped over my own heels. I regained my balance without too much trouble then planted my feet solidly and glared down at my traitor shoes. Fine. If you want to be like that, you’re coming off. I don’t care if anyone sees me in bare feet.

Halfway through taking off my shoes I heard someone call my name. ‘Lily?’ I don’t normally believe in swearing but as my stomach dropped all the way to China I felt like growling out a few. Oh fucking hell this is a bloody disaster. 

It was Peter of course. And me with one shoe off and one shoe on, giving him the time to gain on me while I struggled with the strap on my left shoe. I finally got it to give way but he was standing next to me by then so it didn’t much matter. I put my foot awkwardly back down on the ground and stood up straight.

‘Lily,’ Peter said again, swaying slightly. He put one arm against the wall and leaned casually.

‘Hello. I was just…taking a walk around the school,’ I said calmly but my nerves were shrieking at me to run. I attempted to back away but he followed. One step at a time. Then my ankle turned under me because of my half-attached shoe and as I wavered for balance Peter put his arm out to steady me but he didn’t let go.

‘Thank you,’ I said pointedly, but Peter was beyond such subtle hints now. I attempted to take my arm back from him but he used my motion to pull himself toward me. ‘Peter, no—‘

‘I don’t think you mean that.’

‘Oh I do. I really do. Don’t—‘ I broke off as he tried to kiss me and ended up sliming my cheek instead. Yuck. 

Okay, time to stop being nice. (a small voice shrieked at me that the time to stop being nice was long gone and I had to agree.) I shoved at Peter. ‘Let me go.’ His only reply was to tighten his grip on me and try for my mouth again. I evaded him for the second time but it seemed to make him mad. Boo-hoo Peter. Try this on for size. 

I tried to slam my still-shod foot down on his but I miscalculated and my heel slipped off his leather shoe. He did make a noise of startlement and pushed me away a bit which was enough for me to break his grip on my arms and attempt to run away.

‘Hey!’ He shouted as he grabbed at my arm and swung me around to hit the concrete wall with some force. I gasped and Peter took advantage of my open mouth to slam his tongue into it. I bit down on it warningly while at the same time bringing my knee up into his groin. 

I hoped the pain would immobilize him. I was wrong. He was too drunk to feel anything except the most extreme pain and I hadn’t delivered that. 

What I did do was make him mad. With a snarl on his face and a cry of ‘Bitch!’ Peter shoved me against the wall again, this time giving my head a good crack that made me go limp from the pain. I didn’t fall down though, because Peter had his hand around my throat and oh God it hurt, it hurt so much. The pressure he was putting on me on top of the bruises already there I felt like I couldn’t breathe and there was so much pain and I was gasping for air my lungs didn’t believe in and I couldn’t seem to think of anything except the pain and my own panic—

There was a roar of sound and Peter was viciously yanked away from me to go flying down the hallway ten feet or more. We both hit the ground at the same time, though my descent was slowed by the wall behind me. For the second time in a week I cradled my throat in my hands and tried to breathe and make sense of what I was seeing.

It was like the darkness had coalesced into a human form that was striding dangerously toward the groaning and struggling Peter. When it reached him I could hear Peter mumble out something or other but it didn’t stop the dark figure for even a second. It just hauled Peter into the air only to level him with a truly terrifying punch. Somehow Peter managed to stay conscious through it and tried to swipe back at his attacker. His blow was avoided with contemptuous ease and he was given another punch to match the first. 

My breath had started to come back and I pushed myself to my knees as Peter was knocked unconscious with a third massive blow but my defender didn’t stop there. Again he hit him, again and again until I found my voice enough to cry, ‘Stop!’

The dark figure didn’t stop. I scrambled over to him and grabbed his arm as he raised it for another blow. ‘Bucky, stop.’

The eyes Bucky turned on me were as cold and as murderous as I’d ever seen from him before. This was killer-Bucky. This was the man who thought nothing of violence or death. He was Death. 

‘Please,’ I said.

‘Why,’ he growled at me.

I struggled to find my breath and the words to say to him. ‘Because you’re better than him. He deserved everything you gave him, every punch—but it’s enough. I mean, what he did was wrong—I might kick him myself before we go but he doesn’t deserve to die for it. Besides. He can’t feel it anymore. What’s the point?’ 

Bucky seemed to be digesting my garbled and not altogether rational explanation but at least he’d stopped hitting Peter. Not that I cared much about what happened to him. Blech, the man was scum.

Bucky let go of Peter’s jacket lapel and stood abruptly. I did my best to stand but I wobbled on my half-shod ankle. Bucky stepped close to steady me and before I knew it he was giving me a very thorough going-over. His hands skimmed over my arms and shoulders, checking me for injuries. His fingers lifted my chin slightly to examine my throat but thankfully he didn’t touch it. He gently probed the back of my head and I winced when he found the spot where I’d hit the wall. 

Up until now I’d held myself together the best that I could, but Bucky’s examination of me had culminated with me practically being held in his arms as he smoothed my hair over what was sure to become a gorgeous lump tomorrow and I felt tears leak out of my eyes as what just happened finally became real to me. I wanted to lean fully into his embrace and cry myself out but he stepped back just as my control started to break down. I managed to keep myself from flinging myself into his arms but I couldn’t stop the tears streaming down my face or the way my hands were shaking. 

He noticed, of course. I think he sees almost everything.

‘It’s shock,’ he said. ‘Just shock. You’ll be all right.’

I gave a teary laugh. ‘All right?’

‘I—‘

‘I know. I know what you mean.’ I inhaled deeply and exerted what little control I had left to stop my tears. The shaking in my hands got worse, though. 

Bucky carefully reached out sandwiched my hands between his. ‘Lily, you should go. You can’t stay here.’

‘Right,’ I drew in a shuddering breath. ‘Right. Someone will be coming at some point. Bucky, they’ll find you—‘

‘No, they won’t.’ He said with complete assurance. ‘But they can’t find you.’ He looked back over his shoulder at Peter for a second. ‘This will be hard to explain.’

I tittered with nervous laughter. ‘Hard? Oh God—‘ Nausea surged in my stomach and I closed my eyes. ‘There will be so many questions, I can’t—‘

‘I’ll take care of it.’ Bucky sounded very cold and very serious.

I briefly wondered what that meant, ‘take care of it,’ but decided I didn’t want to ask. I wanted nothing more to do with Peter Carson. Ever.

‘You should leave. Will your friends take you home?’

‘I—yes. They will. I just…I need to clean up a little before they see me. They can’t see me like this.’ I didn’t know how I looked but I didn’t think it was good. My makeup was probably smeared all to pieces and my throat—right now the point was to allay questions, not invite them. And if Laura saw this she would never let me go home easily. And if the police got involved there would be no keeping Bucky out of it. I certainly wasn’t strong enough to beat a man half to death. 

Bucky understood, or at least, he pretended to. He motioned for me to follow him and I did my best to follow silently as he stalked down the hallways, flitting like a shadow in the darkness. When we got close to the gym again I said his name quietly and pointed to a women’s bathroom. He nodded and took up a guard position in a nearby doorway. I entered and gratefully turned the lights on. It meant I was the only one here. 

Surprisingly my makeup was damaged less than I supposed. My throat bruises were showing through but a little creative smearing took care of most of that. If I kept my head down and stayed out of direct light I’d probably be okay. Fortunately my mascara and eye-makeup were water-resistant so my crying hadn’t made me look like a raccoon. I wet a towel and tried to reduce the redness and swelling in my eyes. Before I left the bathroom I finally removed my left shoe and threw it in the trash. I never wanted to see it again. I might even throw out this dress when I got home. 

Outside the bathroom I blinked at the sudden change from light to dark and Bucky appeared at my side in between one blink and the next. ‘Come on,’ he said.

We hurried to the lighted area around the gym where Bucky hung back and motioned for me to go ahead. He would be leaving me here—going back to ‘take care of things.’ I tried to step over the divide between light and dark but instead I turned back and said, ‘Bucky,’ as he looked at me from out of the darkness. I knew this was a bad idea but I couldn’t hold myself back any longer. I walked over to him and said, ‘Thank you. I—thank you.’ 

And I hugged him. He’d just saved me. If not my life, then at least from being beaten and raped. He’d showed up from nowhere to protect me and even in the midst of his killing rage he’d listened to me and stopped. I had to hug him. I couldn’t not show him how much this meant to me, even if I wasn’t sure how he’d react to a hug.

Stiffly, as it turned out. He didn’t shrug me off but he didn’t hug me back, either. That was okay. I felt a little better anyway. Enough to turn around and walk straight back into the light and noise to tell my friends that we were leaving now. And of course nothing was wrong. I was just tired. So very tired.


	11. Chapter 11

Laura knew something was wrong as soon as she saw me. She kept a too-wide smile pasted on her face as she hurried to meet me but her eyes were full of concern. 

It’s time for your performance, Lily, and make it good.

‘Lily, are you all right? What happened?’

‘I’m all right, Laura—but can we go home. I don’t want to stay here any longer.’

Laura tried to say something but I interrupted her with a ‘Please. I’ll tell you on the way out but I really want to go home.’ Of course I wouldn’t tell her what really happened, but if I stuck fairly close to the truth there was enough there to satisfy her. 

Charlie appeared at our side. ‘What’s cooking?’

‘We’re leaving.’ Laura said. ‘I’m feeling a bit tired.’ Charlie looked at her sharply, then over to me. Laura did not look at all tired. I on the other hand looked like I might collapse at any moment. Ah, the lies friends tell for you. Aren’t they wonderful?

‘I’ll bring the car around,’ was all that Charlie said.

Laura and I gathered up our purses and made our excuses to the people at our table. They all nodded in concern at Laura’s explanation that we were leaving on her behalf and several of the mothers she’d been talking to told her to be careful of herself and not overdo things. Ha. Little do they know. Laura loves a good to-do. It’s bread and butter to her.

All the while I kept one eye on the mood of everyone in the gym. If there was a disturbance it was likely to be about someone discovering Bucky and Peter. But the atmosphere remained the same: loud, and just a little bit wild as people drank more than was good for them. All the same I dreaded what would happen if Bucky was discovered and my stomach had tied itself into knots by the time Laura and I exited the school and Charlie helped us into the car.

He must have seen it on my face because as soon as he put his foot on the gas he asked, ‘So what gives?’ 

Laura turned to face me as much as she could. ‘I don’t know. Lily, you said you’d explain.’

‘I—I was just feeling a bit overwhelmed. I—‘

‘Bullshit.’ Laura said. ‘Don’t you dare lie to me. Was it Peter? Did he follow you?’

‘Peter?’ Charlie asked.

‘Yeah Peter.’ Laura replied. ‘He was sniffing around Lily and he seemed okay but he got all handsy during their dance.’

I blinked in surprise. I didn’t think she’d noticed.

‘Of course I noticed, you idiot.’ Laura said. ‘So are you going to tell us what happened?’

‘And whether or not I have to go back and punch that bastard through a wall.’ Charlie put in. His hands tightened on the steering wheel and I felt the wild urge to laugh and tell him that that had already been taken care of. But it was hysterical laughter and I couldn’t give in to that. No, I had to concentrate all my energy on guiding my very good friends to the appropriate truth.

‘I don’t think that’s necessary Charlie. I doubt I’ll ever see him again.’ I breathed deeply. ‘You were right, Laura. He did get a little too close during our dance. I—I hadn’t noticed that he’d been drinking, well, too much. And he didn’t like hearing no. But then the song ended and I thought it was over and I told you I wanted to go for that walk. So I did, but he must have followed me because he tried to corner me in one of the hallways—‘

‘Bastard!’ Charlie growled and braked hard, preparing no doubt to turn around and go give Peter his promised beating. 

‘Charlie no!’ I shouted. ‘It’s all right. He tried to corner me but I gave him a couple good whacks in the groin and I ran back to the party. I do not want to see him ever again and I certainly don’t want you going back there and giving people something else to talk about. Don’t they have enough already?’ I begged.

This did not satisfy Charlie and it certainly didn’t satisfy Laura.

‘Lily, are you sure you’re okay?’

I snorted. ‘As okay as anyone can be after a night like that. You know I love you Laura but it’s going to be a long time before I do you a favor again. A really long time. I’d say that I don’t know the last time I’ve been so miserable but that would be a lie. This might not be the worst night of my life but it’s certainly in the top five.’

Laura shrank back into her seat and Charlie put a reassuring hand on hers. I turned my face to the window and shut my eyes. 

I hated pouring the guilt on her like that but it was somewhat true and it might keep her from delving further into what had happened. I’d managed to keep mostly to the truth but if this night was never brought up again I would be very very happy.

All those things might have been true but I’d just hurt my best friend in all the world and it made me feel awful.

‘Laura, I’m sorry, I—‘

‘No, no you’re right. I should be the one apologizing. I’ve just been so worried about you, Lily, and I thought you needed to get out of the house and so I pushed you into this and look at how that turned out.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘I’m so sorry Lily. You’ve had enough trouble without me adding any more.’

‘This isn’t your fault, Laura.’

‘You’d never have gone if I hadn’t made you.’

‘No. But you didn’t make all our classmates ask intrusive questions and you didn’t tell Peter to go after me, so all you really did was try to help your friend.’

‘Why do you always do this? Why do you always try and make me feel better even when I hurt you?’

‘You’re my friend,’ I said simply. ‘I love you. I might want to put frogs in your bed for a week because of how miserable this night made me—but it wasn’t your fault.’

‘And it wasn’t yours either,’ Charlie spoke up.

‘No, of course it wasn’t.’ I know that.

‘I mean it, Lily. I don’t care that he was drunk, I know you and I know you didn’t do anything to encourage him, so will you stop blaming yourself for not seeing what he was up to?’

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He was right. That was exactly what I’d been doing. I’d been playing the ‘if only’ game ever since Peter and I parted ways on the dance floor. If only I’d kept my distance during the dance. If only I’d noticed how drunk he was. If only I hadn’t gone off into the school alone. If only…

Someone once said that ‘if only’ was one of the most deadly phrases because it trapped you in the past rather than helping you fix your future. They were right of course.

Charlie pulled into my long driveway. The last time I’d been this relieved to see my house was after the funeral and I’d been so tired of people’s sympathy and presence and all I’d wanted to do was curl up in a corner and forget the world existed. I wanted that now, too.

When the car stopped I leaned between the two front seats to give Laura an awkward hug. ‘I love you, you know. Even when you get meddlesome.’

‘I love you too. Even when you turn into a hermit and don’t talk to me for three months.’

‘I guess that’s why we’re still friends.’

‘Guess so.’ 

We both smiled painfully. Charlie opened my door for me and I stepped out. He didn’t let me go into the house right away, though. 

‘I know you were glossing over that story, and I get it. But tell me the truth, Lily—did he hurt you?’ 

Oh Charlie. Husband to my best friend. More like a brother to me than anyone I’ve ever met. You really are the best man I’ve ever known.

‘I’ll have some bruises, Charlie. That’s all.’

It might have been dark outside but Charlie’s face was darker. ‘What did he do?’

I would have found comfort in telling Charlie everything that Peter had done to me. I would have been able to cry in his arms and he would have held me and said that everything was all right. I might have even believed him. But this wasn’t the time for the absolute truth.

‘I got shoved into a wall. It hurt, but not enough to keep me from hurting him worse.’ 

Charlie seemed satisfied by this answer but his expression was still grim. ‘If I ever see him again I’m going to punch the bastard, I don’t care where he is or who he’s with.’

‘Charlie—‘

‘You’re Laura’s best friend and you might as well be my sister, Lily. And no one hurts my family.’ My eyes filled with tears at this passionate declaration and I threw myself into his arms. It didn’t matter that Bucky had already taken care of the problem. It didn’t matter at all. I knew Charlie meant what he said and it felt good to be called family.

I didn’t let our hug last too long, though. Charlie released me slowly, then walked me up to my door. ‘If you need anything,’ he said, ‘you call us. I know you don’t like to call, but you call us right away. You’re not alone, Lily.’ He kissed me on my forehead and walked back to the car.

I slid my key into the lock and opened my door as the car drove off.

You’re not alone, Lily.

Charlie had no idea how true that was.

When I flicked the kitchen light on Bucky was seated at the table. He was wearing the clothes I’d bought him earlier today (only this morning? It felt like forever ago). He was wearing the black slacks, the white button down shirt, the blue tie, and the black vest. He was actually wearing the vest. His hair was combed back neatly from his face and an old duffle bag that had heretofore lived in the attic was sitting by his feet. It looked about half-full, which would be just about right for what he’d brought with him and what I’d bought him. 

Now—I was tired and in a medium amount of pain from what Peter had done to me. I was in no mood for any more complications tonight, but it didn’t look like I was going to get that wish.

‘Hey.’ I settled on saying. Without a word Bucky got up from his seat and drew me down into the chair next to his. Again, I found myself being gone over and I winced a couple times as he found bruises I didn’t know I had. Ah well. Bruises would be gone inside of a week. That lump on the back of my head would take longer to go away. Damn that man. This time Bucky stood behind me as he parted my hair and looked carefully at the lump. The skin hadn’t broken open and it hadn’t bled, which was a miracle of the small order. 

Finished with his exam Bucky sat down again. I wanted to say something but I felt numb, exhausted. And what do you say to the enigmatic man who lives in your basement who followed you to your high school reunion (which might be a creepy thing in a certain light) only to save you from getting beaten and raped, and who also ‘took care’ of the problem in some unspecified way. 

Damned if I knew.

So I stayed silent and concentrated on breathing and relaxing and telling myself that I was safe, I was home, that nothing bad would happen to me. 

Lying to yourself is sometimes a necessary pastime. Especially if you want to be able to sleep that night.

Bucky looked very serious and troubled. He didn’t shift around in his chair like someone else might have though, which drew my attention to the fact that he rarely made any unnecessary movements. He always sat so still, so ready for anything that might be thrown at him. Literally. He was the first one to speak, though.

‘I have to go.’

A million incomprehensible thoughts raced through my mind and gibbered loudly. ‘All right.’ I said calmly. I didn’t feel calm. ‘Is this…are you leaving, leaving?’ Oh good one Lily. Be as cryptic as possible. Can’t you just ask the man if he’s leaving for good? Evidently not.

Bucky nodded. 

Tears burned at the back of my eyes again. I didn’t want to think about why that was. You didn’t become attached to the stray burglar who lived in your basement. That wasn’t a wise move.

‘I’m sorry,’ I blurted out. Once I started the words didn’t seem able to stop from pouring out of my mouth like an avalanche. ‘You’re leaving because of what happened tonight and I’m so sorry for that. I should have been more careful, I shouldn’t have danced with him, you shouldn’t have had to do that for me. I promised you sanctuary and I can’t even give you that. I can’t seem to keep from bothering you and now you have to leave because someone might find out you’re here because what I did and—‘ The flood of words stopped as abruptly as they had started. I fought to keep my mouth closed, fought to keep from doing something so monumentally stupid as asking this man to stay. 

I wanted him to stay?

I guess when your whole world crashes down even a violent amnesiac stranger can be a comfort. Especially when he smiles.

Bucky wasn’t smiling now. He just looked…blank. I was obviously asking for too much from him, putting too much emotional pressure on him. I could hardly blame him for not knowing how to respond to me. He hadn’t asked for any of this. He had enough problems of his own—what right had I to expect him to deal with mine?

I didn’t. 

So I didn’t. I lifted my chin, set my shoulders, and stood from my chair. ‘Are you leaving tonight?’

He nodded.

‘Right. I don’t have much cash on me but you can have what I’ve got. If you were willing to wait until morning I could go to an atm and get more—but well, I hope I have enough. Take whatever food you like. And anything else you need.’ I held out my hand for him to shake. ‘Be well, Bucky. And if you ever need a place to stay again, you’re always welcome here.’

It was an awkwardly long moment before Bucky took my hand. But he did, and we shook, and I pulled my hand away. Or tried to. Bucky kept hold of it and stopped me from leaving.

‘Why shouldn’t you have danced with him?’

‘What?’

‘You said it was your fault because you danced with him. Why?’

You say you’re leaving and then you want to have a discussion about social mores and misplaced guilt? Bucky you really are very confusing sometimes. Of all the things I spewed out at you this is what you pick up on?

‘I—he was drunk, and I didn’t realize it. I should have. He downed at least two drinks in front of me. But he asked me to dance and I really wanted to dance. I should have been paying attention. Halfway through he started to get…handsy.’ Bucky’s head cocked at the apparently unfamiliar term. ‘Too close for comfort. I told him I didn’t want that. The dance ended. He just couldn’t let it go, I guess.’

‘So it was your fault?’ Bucky didn’t sound accusing, more as if he was just trying to understand the right and wrong of the situation. 

‘I—no. It was his fault for not taking no for my answer. But if I hadn’t danced with him, this wouldn’t have happened. And you wouldn’t have had to get involved.’ And you wouldn’t be leaving.

‘Did you not want me to get involved?’

‘I, what? Well, no. Umm yes? Oof. I mean—‘ pull yourself together Lily. ‘There are almost no words for how grateful I am you were there to save me. He was going to hurt me, badly, but he didn’t because you stopped him. I will be grateful to you for the rest of my life. 

‘But I do wish you hadn’t had to be there, if that makes sense. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone finding you. If only I hadn’t danced with him, you see? It’s not your fault or my fault—it’s his fault—but I wish you hadn’t had to beat him up. I wish I could have stopped it before it started. I’m just not very good at confronting people. Maybe if I’d been more assertive…’ I trailed off. Now was not the time for second guessing myself and pushing my emotions at him again. He wasn’t equipped for it. 

But then he surprised me. ‘Or if you hadn’t agreed to go tonight. Or if your friend hadn’t asked you to go. Or…if there was no high school reunion. Those are a lot of maybes Lily.’ He rose from his chair. ‘You danced. He was an asshole. I stopped him. People aren’t going to find out about this. I took care of it. Once I go you have nothing more to worry about.’ He stooped to grab the duffle bag at his feet.

‘Bucky—‘ I said as he looked at me with his stoic and yet somehow tired face. ‘I wasn’t worried about them finding you because of what it meant for me. I was worried for you. You shouldn’t have to run.’

‘They’re the ones who should be running.’ 

Oh. I was looking right into his eyes when he said that and a cold shiver pierced me. He meant it. He really really meant it. I guess he had unfinished business with someone.

‘Okay,’ was all I could think to say. How dumb is that?

Bucky paused as he was slipping past me. ‘Once I’m gone, I won’t be able to hurt you anymore. You’ll be safe.’

Safe from you? Is that what this is really about? ‘I am safe. You promised.’

He turned back to me and his eyes lingered on my bruised throat. ‘Not enough.’

‘That wasn’t your fault—‘

‘Then whose was it?’

‘I shouldn’t have thrown that pillow at you.’ I jumped as Bucky threw down the duffle in disgust.

‘I, I, I! How much fault will you keep taking, Lily? How has any of this been your fault?’ He turned an intense gaze on me and I didn’t realize I was backing up until he had me against the kitchen table. ‘Did you ask for him to hurt you?’ I wordlessly shook my head no. He raised his metal hand to within an inch of my throat. ‘Did you ask for me to choke you?’ I shook my head again. ‘Then why are you doing this? Why do you keep doing this? Tell me!’

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I didn’t even think I could speak until I heard the words coming out of my mouth. ‘Because if it’s my fault then maybe I can fix it. Maybe it won’t ever happen again because if it was my fault last time then this time it won’t happen. This time I can do it right. I can’t—this can’t—‘ My body shuddered from the sobs I was trying so hard to repress but this time I couldn’t keep them back, I couldn’t keep myself from crying.

I had so many regrets. So many if onlys. So many maybes. And I didn’t want to let them go, didn’t want to admit that I had no control over anything whatsoever. Because if I had no control then everything that had happened to me, everything that had torn me apart was inevitable and couldn’t have been stopped and there was no way my family could have survived that boat accident and there was no possible future in which they would have been standing here with me. 

Without my maybes and my if onlys I was completely powerless in the inexorable grip of life, and the more blame I took on my shoulders the more I could trick myself into believing that this time, this time would be different. This time I could change an awful future into a better one. This time everyone would live. This time Good would triumph over Evil. This time I could save the world.

But broken grief-crazed English majors don’t save the world. And they certainly aren’t to blame for all the ills and triumphs of Evil. And they certainly can’t ensure that some people live while others die. 

And in the end, we are all human. And we all die. And we all have as much control over life as we have over the weather. You can’t stop the rain—you can only hope to build something to shelter you.

I longed to be strong again. Strong enough to handle all these violent emotions and strong enough to stop hiding and strong enough that I wouldn’t care if I was occasionally weak.

Or was it weakness I longed for? The comfort of being too weak to handle anything, so there was no pressure to do more, no guilt for not handling enough. Ah yes, to be truly weak. To stop caring about being strong. Yes. I longed for this.

But it is the bane and balm of my life that I have always been strong enough for what has happened to me. I might falter, I might weep, but in the end I will do what needs to be done. No matter how much it hurts.

So I cried myself out—let myself have the luxury of my tears and grief—and through it all Bucky waited for me to finish. Waited for me to finish what I’d been saying. Waited to hear what I had to say before he left. I don’t know why it mattered so much to him but I was grateful anyway. 

Usually I don’t like it when people watch me cry. I feel exposed and ugly and desperately unhappy. But having Bucky stand near me, watching me as I cried, didn’t feel as if he was blaming me or resentful of my grief. I think he felt frustrated, but only through his inability to understand why this was happening. And call me crazy, but I think something in my violent release of emotion called to him on a deep level and he envied me my ability to cry. 

My tears subsided, eventually. I blew my nose into a napkin and drank deeply from a cup of water I always kept on the table. 

All right. I was ready for it now. I looked square into Bucky’s face and did my best to summarize all that had whirled through my mind while I’d been sobbing. 

‘I blame myself because I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t blame myself, I know better than that. But when I blame myself for things I get to believe in the illusion that I’m in control, that I can have some effect on the way things turn out. Instead of believing in the truth that I’m fairly helpless and don’t matter much at all. It’s not good to believe in lies, but sometimes they’re they only way to get through when life falls apart. I should stop it, I know I should. But it’s a habit now, and one that’ll be hard to break. Maybe I’ll be able to stop one day. And maybe I should keep my ‘maybe’s for what happens in the future, and not what’s already happened.’

And maybe that was a far too long explanation Lily and you should have had a word limit.

‘So no more blaming yourself?’

‘Less blaming myself, hopefully.’

Bucky nodded and walked away. 

I felt a bit like I’d been punched in the gut. Well. I guess that’s that then. 

But instead of picking up the bag and leaving, he went for the basement door and climbed down the stairs. How odd. I stayed where I was, backed against the kitchen table, and he was back in less than a minute holding my ipod speaker set. He put it down on the counter and plugged it in. 

I was very confused. Did he want to make sure I knew he hadn’t taken it with him? I would have found it in the basement eventually. 

Bucky pulled the ipod out and deftly started to scroll through my music options. I guess he did get the hang of it after all. He put it back in the dock and pressed play. The smooth mellow tones of Billie Holiday filled the room. He reached his hand out to me.

‘Dance with me.’ My jaw nearly dropped off. If you had asked me what was the most likely outcome of tonight I would have sworn that dancing wasn’t even on the list. Bucky noticed my hesitation and said diffidently, ‘I think I remember how to dance.’ And that shocked me out of my immobility.

‘No, of course. I didn’t think you couldn’t.’ I hadn’t thought about it either way. I took his hand and Bucky slowly drew me closer. His arms were a bit stiff and his face was tight with concentration but when he started to move it was like his muscles could remember what to do and it didn’t matter what his faulty memory was saying. He relaxed into the music and started moving a lot smoother than I was. My foxtrot was sub-par but Bucky turned out to be a pretty good lead. 

I couldn’t help but compare him to Peter. Peter’s dancing had been as smooth as silk and as seductive as a warm breeze. He could almost make you forget that you were dancing and not just moving naturally together.

But Bucky—his moves might have been rusty and he certainly wasn’t holding me as close as Peter had, but his natural intensity made the dance far more thrilling than I expected. The dance seemed to matter to him in a way that was touching and flattering, even though I didn’t think he meant it to be. 

Finally I couldn’t stand our silence any longer and asked him the only question I could think of: ‘Why?’

He understood what I meant but he didn’t answer right away. Eventually he said, ‘You said you liked to dance. You shouldn’t have to regret dancing.’ His eyes held mine and I made no reply. One song passed almost unnoticed into another and still we stared at each other. It was the longest time I could remember looking into someone’s eyes. Normally it’s not my thing. You see a lot about a person when you’re looking in their eyes and it gets a little uncomfortable. This evening, however, had pretty much cornered the market on uncomfortable, so it made this seem just that much less intimidating. 

And besides, I felt like I was learning a lot about him and since he was leaving this was probably my last chance to understand anything about him. 

Not that I was consciously understanding anything that I was picking up from staring at him—that would come later. But for now it was enough to look at him and be looked at in return, and move to the rhythm of music that had been popular so long ago.

‘Bucky. Why did you want to know my reasons for blaming myself? Why did it matter so much to you?’

‘If you blamed yourself that much, I wanted to know how much more you blamed others for not taking responsibility for their actions. I wanted to know how badly you thought of me, and how much better I should be than I am.’

My eyes grew wide. ‘Oh no, that wasn’t what I meant at all. I can be pretty hard on myself. Hold myself up to some pretty high standards. I expect other people to be more sane about things.’

‘Why not you?’

‘Because I’m not sure how sane I am, really.’ I quirked my lips into a small smile. Bucky stayed silent. The song ended and this time Bucky stepped away from me when the next song started up. He clenched his jaw and pressed his lips together in a mockery of a smile. I had never seen a face more full of regret. 

‘I never wanted to hurt you, Lily. You don’t deserve to get involved with…all this. I’m sorry.’ 

I couldn’t let him leave like this. ‘I’m not. Sorry.’ Bucky stared at me. ‘I don’t regret meeting you, or the things that have happened since then. I mean, some of them weren’t all that pleasant, but I’ll take the good with the bad.’

Disbelief covered Bucky’s face. ‘What good?’

‘You’re alive. I got to bake you cookies and see you smile when you ate them. You saved me. We danced.’

‘I broke into your house. I nearly killed you that night. I nearly killed you so many times since then. You aren’t safe with me.’

‘Maybe. But nothing’s changed since I first met you. I still think you’re a good person—or at least, that you’re trying to be one. I told you that that means a lot to me. It still does. I don’t blame you for being erratic or violent because of your PTSD. I don’t particularly want to get hurt because of it, but I don’t blame you for it.’

A dozen emotions flitted across Bucky’s face, mostly in his eyes. Confusion. Anger. Fear. Longing. Sadness. Despair. Determination. 

‘If you don’t blame me, then who’s to blame? I did those things. Me, Lily. I saw your face in that hallway when you grabbed my arm to make me stop hitting him. You were afraid of me, and you should be.’

I didn’t know how to answer that. It would be a lie to say that Bucky doesn’t scare me sometimes. I nicknamed him Mr. Scary Face for goodness’ sake. But—as always—when pressed to give an answer, I tell the truth.

‘You are pretty scary sometimes. I wish I wasn’t afraid, but it seems sensible to be scared of someone who could break you in half without trying. Especially when your eyes go all blank and you’re not behind them anymore. I’m not scared of you right now. Because you’re you. You’re Bucky. You wouldn’t hurt me. But him? That guy you turn into sometimes? Yeah. I’m a bit scared of him. But you don’t seem to want to be him, at least not all the time. So…’ I trailed off, not sure how to continue. This either made sense to him, or it didn’t.

‘I’m not two people. I’m me.’

‘Depends on how you look at it. We’ve all got good and bad parts to us. Sometimes, thinking about them as separate parts instead of as one whole helps you to deal with them.’

Bucky thought about this. ‘Is that why you called it—that other part of me—Pee tee ess dee?’ He sounded it out slowly.

‘Sort of.’ I said slowly. Did he not know what PTSD was? ‘PTSD’s a medical condition. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. They used to call it ‘Shell-Shock.’ When you’ve been through something bad, something life-threatening or dangerous, your body reacts to protect you. Heightened adrenaline, fight or flight response, that sort of thing. But sometimes it doesn’t stop after the danger’s over. Your mind gets locked into what happened and it can’t let it go. Some people get flashbacks of what happened to them, or nightmares, or they just can’t seem to calm down. There’s a lot of other stuff too. I can’t remember it all.’

‘You think I have this.’

‘It’s possible. I don’t really know, but it fits a lot of things. I’m not a psychologist, I couldn’t tell you for certain.’

‘How did you learn about it?’

‘Nowadays most everyone knows a little about it. There’ve been so many wars or other bad events, it just becomes something you hear about. But I learned more about it online. There’re some really good websites.’

Bucky gazed off slightly to the left and down of where I was standing. I could see his eyes flicker as he tried to understand what I’d said. ‘Show me.’

I walked over to the living room couch where I kept my mother’s old laptop. It made for a handy quick-search tool. I sat down and motioned for Bucky to join me. He sat carefully next to me, a little further away than I would think he’d want to be if he wanted to see the screen.

I opened up the laptop and quick searched in Google ‘PTSD.’ With over six million results there was no question of finding what we were looking for. I chose one of the top links that I thought I recognized from when I did my own research. I pulled up the list of PTSD symptoms and passed the computer to Bucky. He responded with a curious gesture, half confusion and half frustration. It reminded me of when I’d handed him my ipod and I realized he must not know how to use a computer. I took it back. Lesson time.

‘This is the touchpad,’ I told him. ‘This moves the mouse around on the screen.’ I swiped it slowly back and forth to give him an idea of what it did. ‘The mouse can be used to click on things that’re on the screen.’ I tapped down on a link. ‘If you click on something that you don’t want to read and you want to go back to what you had before, you find the back arrow at the top of the screen and you click that. Or, if what you clicked opened up into a new tab,’ I indicated the two tabs at the top of the screen. ‘You hover over this part of it until you see the ‘x’ and then you press it to close the tab.’ Tada. I didn’t worry that he would take too long to get it. He’s mastered the ipod and this wasn’t all that hard.

Bucky nodded and I handed the computer back to him. 

‘Oh,’ I remembered something else important. ‘On the side of a page you’ll see the scroll bar. This means that your page is longer than what you can see on the screen–‘

‘Like your music list.’

‘Yes exactly. You can either use the mouse to click on these little down/up arrows, or my touchpad is set up to scroll if you drag your finger down the side of it.’ I demonstrated. Bucky followed suit. He was a bit awkward but he got the idea of it. ‘Now, scroll back to the top. That’s where you should start.’

Bucky situated the laptop more comfortably on his lap and started to read. Every so often he’d ask me to clarify a term or fix what he’d accidentally done to the browser. I ended up showing him a lot more than just PTSD websites, but he kept going back to them. After a while he barely needed me to help him so I settled back onto my side of the couch and leaned over the arm. If Bucky needed me I was right here. 

The sound of Bucky’s desultory typing and the utterly exhausting day combined to carry me off into a deep and dreamless sleep that lasted all night long.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of the non/con and violence that happened last chapter.

I woke to a grey morning and an empty couch beside me. I turned my head toward the kitchen but I couldn’t see the duffel bag Bucky had filled with his clothes. Had he left?

I stretched painfully and lurched to my feet. I wrapped my arms around myself in an attempt to stay warm as I walked into the kitchen. I made a full circuit before I was willing to acknowledge the truth: the bag was gone. Bucky was gone. I was alone again. 

I forced myself to climb upstairs and I forced myself into the shower to wash away everything I could of what had happened last night. Tears, sweat, makeup, fear-smell, Peter-scum—all down the drain. The only thing I couldn’t wash away was the memories.

_‘Peter, no—‘_

_‘I don’t think you mean that.’_

_‘Oh I do. I really do.’ I shoved at Peter. ‘Let me go.’_

_He grabbed at my arm and swung me around to hit the concrete wall with some force. I gasped and Peter took advantage of my open mouth to slam his tongue into it. I bit down on it warningly while at the same time bringing my knee up into his groin._

_I hoped the pain would immobilize him. I was wrong. He was too drunk to feel anything except the most extreme pain and I hadn’t delivered that._

_What I did do was make him mad. With a snarl on his face and a cry of ‘Bitch!’ Peter shoved me against the wall again, this time giving my head a good crack that made me go limp from the pain. I didn’t fall down though, because Peter had his hand around my throat and oh God it hurt, it hurt so much. The pressure he was putting on me on top of the bruises already there I felt like I couldn’t breathe and there was so much pain and I was gasping for air my lungs didn’t believe in and I couldn’t seem to think of anything except the pain and my own panic—_

_There was a roar of sound and Peter was viciously yanked away from me to go flying down the hallway ten feet or more. We both hit the ground at the same time, though my descent was slowed by the wall behind me. For the second time in a week I cradled my throat in my hands and tried to breathe and make sense of what I was seeing._

_It was like the darkness had coalesced into a human form that was striding dangerously toward the groaning and struggling Peter. When it reached him I could hear Peter mumble out something or other but it didn’t stop the dark figure for even a second. It just hauled Peter into the air only to level him with a truly terrifying punch. Somehow Peter managed to stay conscious through it and tried to swipe back at his attacker. His blow was avoided with contemptuous ease and he was given another punch to match the first._

_My breath had started to come back and I pushed myself to my knees as Peter was knocked unconscious with a third massive blow but my defender didn’t stop there. Again he hit him, again and again until I found my voice enough to cry, ‘Stop!’_

_The dark figure didn’t stop. I scrambled over to him and grabbed his arm as he raised it for another blow. ‘Bucky, stop.’_

_The eyes Bucky turned on me were as cold and as murderous as I’d ever seen from him before. This was killer-Bucky. This was the man who thought nothing of violence or death. He was Death._

I turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around my shivering body. I dressed in my warmest, fuzziest, most comforting clothes but even my brightly colored fuzzy socks couldn’t bring a smile to my lips. I felt too numb to smile. Too numb to feel anything except fear and loneliness. 

I was alone again, just like I always wanted.

I avoided looking into any mirrors as I combed my hair and made my way back downstairs. I should eat, right? Food was good for me. Right?

Halfway through buttering my toast I had a flash of memory that made me start searching for my purse. I’d dropped it on the counter last night…ah, there it was. I dug my wallet out and opened it to find that all my cash was still there. I made a noise closer to a sob than a laugh as I bent over the counter and hid my head in my arms.

Last night I’d told Bucky that he could have all the cash I had with me, but he hadn’t taken a single dollar. Not one.

How was he going to eat now?

My thin appetite turned to sawdust in my mouth but I struggled through eating my toast anyway. At least I had food to eat.

I couldn’t bring myself to wash the dishes but I stood at the sink anyway until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I went downstairs and had to brace myself against the wall when I saw that the door to the guest bedroom was open. He never left it open…

Well, Lily, he was gone. There were a lot of things he wasn’t going to do anymore. Now stand up straight and stop dithering.

I walked into the room and blinked. The bed was perfectly made. I looked closer. Or rather, almost perfectly made. One of the pillows had been removed and as I walked closer to the bed I could see around the corner of it and what I saw nearly made me burst into tears. The pillow was placed on the bare floor and a crumpled throw blanket was below it. I sat slowly down on the bed and hugged myself through the pain.

No wonder Bucky hadn’t needed me to wash his sheets. He hadn’t been using any. What had happened to the man that he wouldn’t even sleep in a bed but lay on the floor next to it? I mean, I could understand disliking a bed because it was too soft and sleeping on the floor instead. I’d done that myself. But this—

This was different. This reeked of cold nights and deprivations so extreme that he didn’t feel like he deserved any softness at all.

The shock of this made a pain pulse dimly deep inside me and a formless anger howled like a winter wind behind it all. Before Bucky had left, I’d told him he shouldn’t have to run anymore, and he’d told me, ‘They’re the ones who should be running.’

Run far and fast, all you who did this to him. I don’t think it will help you, but it’ll be better if you die scared.

I was down there a long time.

It was the sound of the phone ringing distantly that broke me from my angry trance. Few people had reasons to call my cell phone and I suspected that it was Laura trying to call me so I hurried upstairs to catch the call.

‘Hello?’

‘Lily, it’s Laura.’

‘Yes, is everything all right?’

‘I’m supposed to be asking you that.’ Laura’s voice was concerned but I could hear a thrill of excitement behind it.

‘I’m fine,’ I answered. Liar liar. ‘But what’s going on? Are you having contractions?’

Laura sputtered. ‘What? No! Why would you think that?’

‘Well,’ I temporized, feeling a small smile finally rise above the murk inside me, ‘You are almost nine months pregnant and you do sound a little excited…’

Laura bubbled with laughter. ‘No, I’m not having the baby yet, although I wish! Charlie had to haul me out of bed this morning I was like a turtle on its back.’ She groaned, then a happy humming noise escaped her. ‘I was calling to ask you if you’ve heard?’

A spike of fear drove itself through my gut. ‘Heard what?’

‘Oh! I didn’t think you would have, but you’re going to LOVE this!’ Laura laughed again, but this time it was far more sinister.

I was far too worried about what this news could be to enjoy Laura’s dramatic build up. Had someone caught Bucky? Did someone see him at the reunion last night? ‘Just spit it out.’

‘All right, all right. Well, I was talking to Grace Perkins this morning, you know, she’s got three kids and works at the police station dispatch? Guess who was so drunk he crashed his ridiculously expensive car into a tree last night?’ Laura’s voice was practically vibrating with evil joy.

It couldn’t be. ‘No—‘

‘Yes! Peter Carson.’

I blew out a breath in relief. Not only was this not about Bucky getting caught, but he’d ‘taken care’ of Peter in the best way possible. My conscience prompted me to ask, ‘How badly was he hurt?’

‘Lily! That better not be concern in your voice.’

‘Laura!’ I mimicked. ‘He might be scum but he doesn’t need to be dead scum. Maybe…just paralyzed scum.’

‘That’s better. And no,’ Laura sighed deeply, ‘he’s not dead OR paralyzed, but he’s got broken bones and some internal injuries. He wasn’t wearing his seatbelt and he went straight through the windshield and slammed into the same tree his car hit. 

‘Apparently,’ and here’s where Laura’s voice got saccharinely, falsely, concerned, ‘his face was so badly damaged he’ll need plastic surgery before he looks even a bit like his old self.’

I almost laughed. ‘And you got all this from Grace Perkins?’

‘No…not all. Once I knew he was in the hospital I called Oliver Turner and he’s a nurse in the ICU so—‘

‘Laura! Aren’t there supposed to be confidentiality agreements or something?’

‘Normally yes. But Oliver always thought Peter was a stinker and—‘

‘Oh Laura—‘

‘Don’t you ‘oh laura’ me!’ At this point we both started laughing. Her, from a sense of retributive joy that Peter got what he deserved for hurting me, and me from a lot of pent up wildness that need to get out somehow.

We stopped laughing after only a couple seconds and before the silence became awkward Laura said quietly, ‘I’m really sorry, Lily.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ I close my eyes and lean against the counter.

‘I’m still sorry.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Maybe we could have you over for dinner later this week. No dressing up required. Just pizza and pjs.’

Pizza and pjs, one of our oldest traditions as friends. It was one of the things that had taken a hit when she married Charlie. Not that he tried to stop us—oh no. But there are certain things you do when both friends are unattached, and then there are certain things you do when one of you is married. Some traditions are just harder to keep than others.

I pushed down the automatic swell of disgust at the thought of leaving the house to socialize twice in one week, and said ‘Yes. Lets do that.’ Because I love my friend and I’d hurt her yesterday.

‘Good! Great.’ I could almost hear her smile. ‘What day works for you?’

‘What day works for you?’ I retorted. ‘I’m the one with scads of free time.’

‘Yes you are, aren’t you? How’s Thursday?’

‘You’re on. Time?’

‘Five-ish. We’ll get an early start. And you’ll be staying over.’

‘If you insist.’

‘Well since I can’t drink, you’ll have to drink for two.’

‘Ha, right. As if I could.’

We both laughed, this time feebly. I’d never been much of a drinker, and in Laura’s haste to pretend to have a ‘normal’ conversation with me, she’d forgotten that when she’d come to the house she’d practically accused me of becoming an alcoholic. Ah, well. She was only worried about me. 

‘I’ll see you Thursday then.’ It was almost a question she asked me.

‘Yeah. I’ll be there. Bye.’

‘Bye Lily. Stay okay, right?’

‘Right.’

We hung up. I collapsed into a chair. I hadn’t had much energy to begin with and faking a normal conversation was exhausting. Hopefully by Thursday I’d be able to pretend a bit better.

My stomach growled, startling me. I guess I was actually hungry now. I made a pot of mac and cheese, sticking with the theme of comfort food to go along with my comfort clothes. I decided to eat it on the couch and as I sat where I’d spent last night I looked over to where Bucky had been. He wasn’t there, of course, but the computer still sat there.

An idea formed in the back of my head but I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I ruminated over it as I ate my mac and cheese and when I scraped the bottom of the bowl I made up my mind. It felt a little wrong, but my curiosity was too strong.

So I turned on the computer and opened up the browser history. Unless Bucky had been completely playing me last night, acting like he’d never used a computer before, there was no chance he’d deleted his search history. 

Even after I opened the page, I looked away for a minute, trying to reconcile what I was doing with my normal behavior. It was wrong to look at someone else’s browser history. It was private, it was—

Oh hell I’m going to look anyway.

It started out as I expected, of course. The couple searches I helped him with about PTSD etc. But then it started branching out. Some random history websites narrowing down to WWII. Captain America. The Avengers. What happened in New York a couple years back. 

I didn’t know what to make of any of that, but as I kept scrolling downward I came across a couple unfamiliar searches: Hydra. Shield.

Shield? Hadn’t people been talking during the reunion about some collapse or release of secrets or something? Something to do with a company called Shield?

My curiosity was rising but the last search term Bucky had implemented stole all my attention. 

It was simply, ‘James Buchanan Barnes.’

I clicked it.

And everything flew to pieces.

It was hours before I finally stopped reading and started trying to put all the pieces together. It made sense, I kept thinking. It all made so much sense.

From the web search of his own name I’d discovered that he’d been born in 1917 and had fought in WWII with Captain America (??!!) before his believed death in 1944. From there I went on to read hundreds of articles about what had happened in DC only last week: a secret intelligence agency gone to the bad, backed by villains we’d thought destroyed in WWII, now all gone thanks to Captain America and his friends who’d also released all of Shield’s secret information onto the internet. 

I briefly thought about trying to trawl through some of that data but I had more pressing issues: some low quality photographs and references to someone called ‘The Winter Soldier.’ Someone who looked a lot like Bucky. Someone who Steve Rogers himself actually thought was Bucky brainwashed by Russian scientists into becoming the scariest assassin this world might have ever known. 

It all made so much sense.

There was even a personal plea from Steve Rogers to anyone who might have heard or seen anything to do with Bucky, asking them to help him find him.

Wow.

So… not only had I invited a scary looking violent amnesiac burglar to stay at my house, it turns out he was a brainwashed supersoldier born in WWII and oh yeah he’d killed so many people over the years there wasn’t even an accurate body count.

I felt like panicking but there was nothing left to panic over. Bucky was gone. He wasn’t coming back. He was likely trying to hunt down the people who did this to him: those who were still alive, anyway.

At that thought my heart took a nosedive. Bucky. My scary houseguest. Hunting down his captors all alone.

Who would feed him now?

Stupid Lily, he’d be just fine. 

Who would bake him brownies and cookies and make sure he had enough sugar for his tea?

Stop that Lily, he’s a grown man and he doesn’t need you obsessing over him like he’s a stray dog.

Who would—

I SAID STOP IT. JUST…STOP IT.

But I couldn’t. It was utter insanity, of course. I should have been terrified at the thought of him coming back, terrified of him (well, more than I already was), terrified of anything except the thought that I’d never see him again. I was way out of my league here, but did my brain care? Nooooo, it just kept maundering on about how maybe if he’d stayed, I could have helped him—

Helped? Helped him?

Wake up Lily! It’s bad enough that you quit your job after your whole family died and hid in the house for three months pretending that there was no outside world and nothing could hurt you or bother you if only you stayed in your room. 

It’s bad enough that you tried to give a violent burglar a place to stay because he promised not to kill you.

All of this is bad enough—do you have to be so completely delusional as to think that you could have helped him? A washed-up English major and a violent amnesiac supersoldier. What a great pairing. 

Even when I’d thought it was just some straight forward PTSD I’d felt unequal to the task, let alone with what I know now. But the logical portion of my brain had taken a hike and all I could see was Bucky. Bucky trying desperately to be more than a killer. Bucky smiling at sugar. At a kid’s movie. Bucky smiling at me in my pretty dress. Bucky protecting me when I couldn’t help myself. Bucky dancing with me because he didn’t want me to regret dancing.

The Winter Soldier might indeed have been an evil terror the world could well do without, but Bucky…

Even before I knew who he was I knew he wasn’t evil. I knew he was struggling toward the light. 

So now that I knew what he was, knew even the smallest part of what had been done to him, I didn’t care. Whoever they’d made him to be, he was something different. He wanted to be something different. I’d told him that that was all that mattered to me and thinking back on it now that was still true. 

I just wish I could have told him that.

They do say to be careful what you wish for…

A knock at the front door made me jump nearly a foot in the air. I breathed deeply to still my fast-beating heart. It didn’t work. The knock came again. I looked down at myself: I was hardly presentable, but maybe the person at the door was someone I could ignore like Mormons or girl scouts.

Well, maybe not girl scouts. 

I walked quietly to the door and carefully peeked over the glass at the top: Bucky! I swung open the door with a huge grin on my face that faded a little as I remembered some of what I just learned. Bucky didn’t seem to notice, he just stood there looking tense and pained. Not physically in pain, but definitely some species of pain. 

‘Hey.’ He said. Score one for Bucky the conversationalist.

‘Hi.’ I said back. I’m brilliant like that. I hastily moved out of the doorway and motioned for him to come inside but he shook his head.

‘We need to talk.’


	13. Chapter 13

I know you’ll agree with me when I say that ‘We need to talk,’ probably ranks as one of the most terrifying everyday phrases that you can hear. 

I’m not talking about the special once in a lifetime sorts of phrases like ‘I’ve got a gun, now give me all your money,’ or ‘Do you know how much blood the human body contains?’

No, I’m talking about ‘We need to talk.’ 

It’s ominous, it’s guaranteed to make your stomach feel like it dropped all the way to China, and unfortunately you’ll probably hear it far too often in your life. Even when the person who’s saying it doesn’t mean anything sinister by it, it still feels awful to hear it.

‘We need to talk.’ Bucky said.

As much as I wanted this to be one of those times where ‘we need to talk’ is a precursor to happy times and wacky fun, I wasn’t putting any money on it. 

‘Okay.’ Was my brilliant response. ‘Do…do you want to come inside?’ We were still standing out on my porch. Bucky shook his head, shifting slightly with unease. Okay. Right. We’re doing this outside. Thank God I don’t have nearby neighbors. I closed the screen door behind me and tried to smile encouragingly at Bucky. I think I deserved a C for effort.

‘I’m not who you think I am,’ Bucky finally blurted out.

I nearly laughed. Stupid inappropriate laughter. Well excuse me Mr. Scary Face you have no idea who I think you are. Were. Are. Gah.

‘Well,’ I finally managed, ‘You’re Bucky.’ Bucky was not impressed with this answer. His scowl distinctly said so. 

‘I was…I—I’m not sure if I’m him anymore.’ His left hand started to flex and clench, the metal plates softly whirring. He was clearly having a hard time verbalizing what he wanted to tell me, the very same information (I assumed) I’d just read off of the internet. And since I’m such a sucker I decided to let him off easy.

God help me.

‘Um,’ I started eloquently, causing Bucky to stare intensely straight into my eyes, ‘You’re right. I didn’t know who you were, well, before this morning.’ 

Bucky blinked. I soldiered on.

‘I mean, I knew you were scary and dangerous but you promised not to kill me and you meant it and then last night you saved me and danced with me—‘ stop blabbering Lily and get to the point, deep breath, ‘and then this morning I checked my computer and I’m really really sorry but I backtracked a couple of your searches—‘ Bucky grew noticeably tenser at this ‘—and now, um, I think I know who you are. Were. Right. So?’

My God. If the man could make sense of that he deserved a medal.

‘How much did you see?’ His voice was deeper now, with that hint of gravel it had contained the night I’d found him in my kitchen. Gulp.

‘I, um, all of it? I didn’t really go into all the Shield files dumped onto the internet but I read a lot of the precis and I saw the video Captain America made—‘ although it wasn’t really Captain America who made that video was it? It was Steve Rogers. It felt awkward calling him Steve Rogers, though. It wasn’t like I knew the guy. ‘—asking people to help him find you—‘

And wow that part definitely got a reaction out of him. He didn’t jump for my throat like he’d done before but his level of suppressed violence wasn’t suppressed anymore and he started looking around like he expected Captain America to drop out of the sky whistling the star spangled banner and wielding a machine gun.

‘Don’t worry!’ I blurted out. ‘I didn’t do anything.’ Bucky shot a glance at me out of the corner of his eye, still on Death-con Red. ‘I promised, remember? You promised not to kill me and I promised not to tell anyone about you.’

Bucky relaxed slightly. Slightly. ‘You don’t feel differently now? Now that you know who I really am?’ He deliberately stepped close to me and LOOMED. Gulp. Looming is scary. ‘Now that you know how many people I’ve killed?’

My danger responses aren’t always the best or even focused in the right direction. As in, when I hear my house being broken into, I go downstairs to confront the thief. When I see a clearly traumatized man having a ptsd episode, I throw a pillow at him. And when I’m confronted with an incredibly scary supersoldier assassin asking me about how many people he’d killed, I argue semantics. 

‘Actually, no one’s quite sure how many people you’ve killed, I mean, there’s lots of speculation and rumor but—‘ shut UP Lily! ‘—all anyone really agrees on is ‘lots.’ You killed ‘lots.’ But not me. So yay?’ I smile hopefully.

Oh. My. God.

I’d say ‘shoot me now’ but I really don’t want to die and I assume the man in front of me actually has the guns to do it.

Bucky doesn’t take a step back but he stops LOOMING if you know what I mean. He half-heartedly snorts with something that isn’t laughter. ‘Lots. Sure. I’ve killed ‘lots.’’ He runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. ‘I’m dangerous, Lily.’

Yes? Was this supposed to be telling me something new? He must have seen that on my face because he grabbed both my shoulders and said ‘I nearly killed you—more than once!’ I opened my mouth to refute that but he tightened his grip on my shoulders and said, ‘Damn it Lily! It doesn’t matter what I did last night, you can’t just trust me like this!’ He released my shoulders with an expression of self-disgust and he spun around to the edge of the porch.

I crossed my arms. Well this was a pretty pickle. Why on earth did you come back, if only to tell me how much you shouldn’t be here, Bucky? What’s up with that? 

We stood on my porch in an awkward silence. I certainly wasn’t going to be the one to break it. Nope. No sir. No—

‘Is that what you wanted to talk about? Who you were?’ Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? Why?

Bucky shook his head slightly as he looked back at me over his shoulder. ‘I stayed here too long. You’re not safe. I—‘ he cut himself off and huffed a little before smiling the most thinly veiled pained smile I’ve ever seen. ‘People are looking for me.’

‘The Avengers?’ 

‘And others.’ 

Oh right. Others. Like Hydra. Eep. Suddenly I wished my house was covered in steel and concrete and not the pretty cream colored plastic siding it actually had. A valid concern bounced up and down in my stomach: ‘Do they know where you are?’

‘If they did, they would already be here.’

Gulp. ‘But you think they will?’

Silence from Bucky. How reassuring. 

I suddenly felt the need for something to offset all the shocks I’d felt today. There were cookies inside. I wanted cookies. 

‘Hey,’ I said. Bucky turned to look at me. ‘I’m gonna go have a couple cookies. You want one?’

Bucky’s jaw clenched. Oh, don’t give me that Mr. Scary Face. I know how much you love cookies. And if we aren’t in imminent danger of death there’s absolutely no reason not to eat as many cookies as we want to.

Of course, if we were in imminent danger of death there was absolutely nothing I could do about it anyway so eating cookies was just as valid a response, really. And hey, if they killed me, I wouldn’t have to worry about eating too much sugar. 

I shook my head at his continued silence and walked back into the house. I left the door open behind me. As always, it was his choice to stay or go.

I was eating my second cookie when Bucky came in off the porch. He strode over to the cup cabinet and proceeded to fill a cup with milk and dunk his cookies in it. With great annoyance. Whether that annoyance was directed towards me, the cookies, Hydra, (Hydra’s lack of cookies during his involuntary service), or anything else, I had no idea.

But he still ate the cookies and after five cookies his annoyance had dissipated enough that his small sugar-smile had made an appearance. He poured himself another glass of milk and leaned back against the fridge with a heavy sigh before drinking it. I had stopped after my third cookie and was standing facing him across the kitchen, trying not to let the semi-awkward silence get to me.

I understood this silence, though. This was his ‘the situation calls for words but I’m not sure what to say or how to say it but maybe if I glare long enough I won’t have to say anything’ kind of silence. Yeah. I spoke Bucky now.

But could he speak Lily? Because I crossed my arms and leaned back against the sink and smiled patiently into his silence. His lips ticked down a little. Aha. 

‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’ His voice was low and intent.

‘I don’t want to get hurt either.’ My quick response earned me a scowl. I guess I sounded a little facetious. ‘Look Bucky, I—‘ I don’t know what to do, please help me out here, ‘—I don’t really know all that’s going on, I get that. There’s a LOT that I don’t know here. And yeah, it scares me. Promise. But…’ I shifted uneasily. I didn’t know how he was going to react to what I said next. Probably not well. ‘I feel safer with you here, than not.’ I shrugged, hoping that would be enough.

Bucky ran his right hand through his hair, briefly clenching his fist around the strands at the nape of his neck before relaxing his arm. I wish I could say that all I noticed was his frustration at the situation, but honestly his arm muscles were too amazing not to stare at. Bad Lily. Focus on the possibly life threatening situation now—ogle him later.

Bucky spoke as if he were pushing the words out of his mouth and up a steep hill, ‘They haven’t found me yet, but if I stay…’ He shook his head then looked directly in my eyes. ‘It would be…bad.’

I nodded and repeated, ‘Bad.’ I could tell he meant ‘bad’ like I’d said ‘lots’ earlier when talking about how many people he’d killed. 

But if Hydra hadn’t found him already, how likely was it they’d find him now? It wasn’t like he’d been running down main street naked and flashing his metal arm for all to see. In fact, the only time I could swear he’d been off my property was when he’d gone to my high school reunion and no one saw him there except me and Peter and I don’t think Peter remembered him or else Laura would have mentioned it when she called me earlier.

So…no need to panic on that account. No one knew he was here, no need to run off half-cocked.

Now, if what Bucky really wanted to do was go forth and set Hydra ablaze for what they did to him—okay. I get it. Vengeance is sometimes justified. Really really justified. But if so, why was he here? In my kitchen of all places. It wasn’t like there were Hydra agents hiding under my sink.

At least, I think. 

Stop it Lily. 

All this ran through my head at super speed, taking up barely a second and a half. It felt like forever, though, and all the back-and-forthing in my head was enough to annoy and frustrate me into speaking bluntly:

‘How likely is it they’ll find you here?’

‘I don’t care if they find me I don’t want them to find you.’ He said vehemently, only lying slightly. I doubt he knew I could tell. But it was pretty obvious: of course he cared if they found him. I cared too. I didn’t want Hydra finding either of us.

‘Bucky.’

‘If I stay under the radar…it might be okay.’

Okay. I can do okay. I took a deep breath and nodded. The news of my imminent death has been greatly exaggerated. Good.

‘So you’re staying?’ I just wanted to double check.

Bucky turned abruptly and walked out the door, saying over his shoulder, ‘Need to do a sweep,’ before disappearing.

A sweep. I think it’s Bucky code for ‘this situation has gotten too uncomfortable and I need alone time.’ Although—Damn it!

He’d managed to run off before telling me why he even came back in the first place. Insert loud and exasperated sigh here. Because if it wasn’t likely Hydra would find him here, it made no sense that they’d find me if he left. So what gives, Bucky? Unless you’re just that addicted to my baked goods and charming personality.

Ha. Right.

Maybe if I’m lucky he’ll actually talk to me after he comes back after his ‘sweep.’

But that would have to mean that Luck actually wanted anything to do with me, which, based off of the last three months of my life, I’d say it didn’t. Welp. Not much else to do now but start making dinner for two. I wonder if Bucky likes pierogis…


	14. Chapter 14

Bucky likes pierogis.

Bucky does not like questions.

Do you know how I know this? It’s because when I put a plate of pierogis in front of him he ate all of them and looked for more. But if I even inhale slightly as if I’m about to ask a question he disappears like a will-o-the-wisp that just led you into a bog and isn’t going to lead you out again.

I’m doing my best not to take that metaphor too much to heart, but really.

So here I stand, arms crossed, feet sinking into muddy boggy water, watching my will-o-the-wisp disappear out of the house for the third time since he came back ‘to do a sweep.’

Sweep away Bucky, sweep away.

I try not to sigh too much but eventually I give in and sigh as dramatically (or as over dramatically) as I want, taking my sighs to such loud and drawn out levels that singing opera turns out to be the only way to cope with such ridiculous melodrama. Not that I know much opera, but the one or two songs I can sing combined with lots of vocalizing and occasional uncontrollable bursts of laughter help pull me out of my bog before Bucky gets back.

Kudos to him, he doesn’t even attempt to slink in the back door in the basement and avoid me entirely. Although I don’t think he expected to be greeted by an entirely terrible and mostly wordless version of ‘La Donna E’ Mobile.’ And I certainly didn’t expect his arrival during said rendition while I was dancing around the kitchen putting the dried dishes away, but well. We both dealt with it like mature adults and only stared at each other in shock for about five seconds before I cracked and started laughing. Bucky didn’t laugh, of course, but I think the corner of his mouth lifted a little so we can add ridiculous renditions of classic opera to things that might make him smile.

Yay!

I shook my head and went back to putting the dishes away, satisfying myself with some light humming and swaying movements instead of my operatic dance party. Surprisingly, Bucky stayed in the kitchen, sneaking cookies out of the leftover dish one at a time as I finished the post-dinner clean-up. After I was finished I wasn’t ready to let the comfortable atmosphere subside so I smiled and motioned with my head to the living room before walking over and flipping through my movie case. This time, however—I hoped—I’d choose something that wouldn’t give Bucky a PTSD attack if he decided to join me.

After dithering over whether or not to try to show him an older classic film (Arsenic and Old Lace, anyone?) or another animated one (well, maybe not. All Pixar movies are emotionally compromising), I felt the lightning bolt of inspiration hit me—Bucky has never seen Star Wars. Bucky has never seen Star Trek. Bucky has never seen Braveheart or Gladiator or Ben-Hur or Jurassic Park or Lord of the Rings or—

Bucky has never seen anything. Anything I showed him would be new and shiny and amazing. He probably doesn’t even know the ending to The Sixth Sense (not that I’d want to start him there, but really! I’d been spoilered to that ending years before I even saw that movie) Here was a chance to watch someone experience classic amazing movies FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER. Squee!

Sometime during my happy little freakout I heard Bucky settle quietly onto one of the couches behind me. Okay. Right. Settle down Lily. You have to pick a movie before he can watch it. Eee!!

But the pressure was starting to get to me and my joy was turning into mild panic and I couldn’t make a decision. Were action movies too violent? Comedies too modern and unfunny? Old movies too cliché? Dramas too emotional?

Damn it all I wasn’t going to sit here all night angsting over my movie collection so I mentally slapped myself upside the head and put on The Emperor’s New Groove.

Because if Bucky couldn’t find this movie funny there was absolutely no hope for him at all.

Bucky liked the movie.

He liked it when Yzma and Kronk took the crazy roller coaster ride to the secret lab. 

He liked it when Kuzco shouted ‘Demon Llama!’ and tried to run away.

He actually SNORTED when the squirrel made a balloon animal llama and popped it and Kuzco laughed so hard he woke the jaguars. 

There was an honest to God open smile on his face when Yzma and Kronk were locked into a closet by Pacha’s amazing family.

And by the end of the movie that smile had made several reappearances and I felt almost dizzy with happiness in a way that usually only comes from laughing so hard you get oxygen deprivation. I leaned back against the couch as the credits rolled and congratulated myself on a job well done.

‘That was…that was fun.’ Bucky said, surprise in his voice.

‘Good.’ That’s what I wanted. One movie successfully watched without any flashbacks or bad decision making on either of our parts. Yay!

He turned to me. ‘Do you have more movies like that?’

Oh Boy. I do not want to disappoint you Bucky, but there are very few movies like that one. ‘Similar ones, maybe. But in a lot of ways Emperor’s New Groove is one of a kind. Do you want another animated—I mean, cartoon? Or just another comedy?’

Bucky licked his lips and a tiny corner of his tongue stuck out of his mouth as he concentrated. ‘A comedy. Sure.’ He exhaled deeply. I nodded and went over the change the disk. I felt like cheering and doing backflips. (well, if I could do backflips, I’d feel like doing backflips). Bucky had made a decision! He’d expressed an opinion! God in all the starry heavens, what would be next? I couldn’t even imagine.

I don’t have all that many straight up comedies in my collection, I tend to have a little bit of everything along with a lot of action movies—which I was going to hold off on until we’d talked about their potentially triggering him—and some of my comedies were more of the romantic variety which meant modern which meant possibly unfunny to a guy from the 1940’s who’d for all intents and purposes missed the last 70 years. So although I hesitated I decided that Arsenic and Old Lace (for all that it heavily features death and mentions of dubious surgeries) was probably a better bet than The Princess Bride—which although I hoped we’d work up to it, it does contain a fairly extreme torture sequence. I nearly put in Tangled but I thought we could save that for another night.

So Arsenic and Old Lace it was. As it started, though, I got up to get us both some popcorn and ice cream because if we were having a movie night we were going to do it right, damn it. Bucky’s attention wasn’t fully on the movie as I was moving around the kitchen but as soon as I handed him his respective bowls and sat down he turned his focus back to the tv.

I don’t know if many people nowadays have seen this movie, it’s such an old one, but boy is it hilarious. The main character (Cary Grant, donchknow) is getting married and he has to tell his two sweet old aunts that he’s leaving to go on his honeymoon. Only as he’s telling his aunts this information it comes out that they’ve been poisoning and killing their houseguests for years and burying them in the basement. Because they were so sad, you know, and now they’re at peace. I admit that the summary doesn’t really do it justice but believe me it really gets you going after a while. The old ladies are so sweet and absolutely bonkers and Cary Grant is just about passing out every five seconds from startlement and shock and—

Well. Let’s just say that I like this movie and I hoped Bucky would at least be entertained by it.

I was worried at first though, because he seemed a little agitated by it. He couldn’t settle down. He’d shift awkwardly in his seat, twitch his eyes toward me then back to the screen. His breathing would pick up then slow down and his hands tapped restlessly on the arm of the sofa.

‘You okay Bucky?’ I had to ask.

‘Yeah. Yeah, m’fine.’ He took a deep breath and visibly tried to calm down. It must have worked because not ten minutes later he was LAUGHING. LAUGHING.

Bucky was laughing? 

And not just polite ‘heh heh’ chuckles. No. This was full on from-the-gut guffaws and pounding on the sofa arm laughing. 

I was mesmerized. I nearly passed out when he turned his head to the side with a wide smirk and said:

‘Hey Stevie! D’you think that dame—‘

Bucky lurched upright, chest heaving, hands clenching, eyes wild. I grabbed for the remote and punched pause as hard as I could. Oh God oh God oh God I’ve done it again what do I do is he okay should I fetch the smelling salts—

He’d remembered something. Since I highly doubt he had that many ‘Stevie’s’ in his life he must have been remembering Steve. Steve Rogers. Captain America. Oh God. Why now? Why this movie? How old was this movie anyway?

That’s a question for another time, Lily, get it together!

Luckily Bucky didn’t seem to be having a flashback. He was just really upset. He ran his fingers through his hair and stalked across the living room a couple times, muttering to himself.

‘Bucky,’ I tried quietly. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

He looked up at me briefly in between his frantic pacing, his expressions were all over the place. Panic, joy, fear, hope, as well as the ever present rage that never seemed all that far away. The scariest part, however, was that he seemed to be having trouble recognizing me. He clearly wasn’t cataloguing me as a threat (see: I was still breathing and alive) but gaze was too blank for his normal self.

With a small rush of relief I remembered something from all my reading about PTSD and I hoped it would apply right now.

‘I’m Lily. You’re in my house where you’ve been living in my basement for the last week. The date is August 10th, 2015. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes but you told me to call you Bucky.’

I could see understanding snap back into place behind Bucky’s eyes. Understanding, relief, then a deep deep exhaustion that dragged him down and made his legs unsteady until he sat on the sofa again. He hung his head and breathed shakily.

‘Lily.’ His gravel voice was back but I wasn’t worried. Or, well, no more than normal.

Wow. It only takes a week for a super scary amnesiac burglar assassin to become normal? Wow. Humans are weird.

I let the silence sit for a while before saying, ‘So I’m going to guess that you just remembered something.’

Bucky nodded his head slightly and breathed deeply. ‘Steve—‘ his hands twitched and he flinched away from whatever it was he was going to say. He shook his head and huffed out an unfunny puff of laughter. ‘I wasn’t here, I was—‘

‘Oh,’ I said. 

‘Oh,’ He said right back. Never let it be said that even after a traumatic event Bucky still can’t mock me subtly even when pulling himself back together. He motioned toward the screen and pinched his lips into a smile. ‘I think I’ve seen this one before.’

‘With—‘

‘Yes.’ Bucky cut in. Right. Don’t say his name. 

Why can’t I say his name, I wonder deep deep down. I know they were friends, best friends—why wouldn’t you want to talk about and remember your best friend? Seems like that would be one of the only good parts about this whole situation. Hey, you might have been brutally tortured and brainwashed for over seventy years and been forced to kill lots of other people but at least your best friend is still around and really wants to see you again. I feel like that would be something to hold onto, to cling to, not push it away.

Bucky leaned back into his chair, expression unreadable. 

In the end, there was only one question to ask:

‘Do you want to keep going?’

We did end up watching the rest of the movie but there were no more smiles, no more sudden fits of laughter. And when I say we ‘watched’ it I think we really more ‘endured’ it. Endured the silent call of unspoken memories that clenched their fists in the dark and snarled silently in pain and fear.

When the movie was over Bucky brought his dirty bowls to the sink and went downstairs to the basement without saying a word. In my own head I pretended like I understood. Sometimes that’s so much easier than admitting the terror that comes with complete ignorance and helplessness.

My head throbbed. It had been a corker of a day. Of the last two days. Hell, of the last week.

The last three months hadn’t been a cake-walk either, but that was more of my own fault.

And it didn’t really feel the same, you know? The last three months, and this past week. Comparing them didn’t feel right. I’d spent the last three months in a haze of soul-exhaustion and depression. Thinking back, memories of that time felt slow and washed-out. Even though I thought at the time that everything felt too unutterably painful to endure, too sharp, too pointed, just too much pain—it wasn’t quite true. I was mostly numb. Numb and pained all at the same time.

But this past week? As soon as I’d woken up to find Bucky in my kitchen all my memories had a sharp brightness to them, a ‘present’ quality that the three months before them lacked. As if I was really and truly awake instead of being barely conscious and flattened under the weight of my own emotions.

Some of those moments I wish I could remember a little less vividly…but not, at the same time. Because that would mean going back to the grey-life, my half-life, my life-before-Bucky.

I had no illusions that Bucky would become a permanent part of my life. He’d left today and nearly hadn’t come back. There was no stability to be gained from him, no promises to be kept other than the ones that had already been spoken. 

But.

I was awake now. He forced me awake and now I was terrified of falling back asleep again. Back to what I was.

Is it any wonder that when I fell asleep that night I dreamed of death?


	15. Chapter 15

I wasn’t there when my family died. 

I was several thousand miles away and I didn’t even know they were dead until I got off of work and listened to the several voice mails left on my phone.

The police were very kind, you know. They did their best to explain what happened, explain my options, explain what was expected of me. 

It was all just noise to me, though. Noise that was far dimmer than the screaming in my head.

It was a boating accident.

Who actually dies in a boating accident? It’s almost ridiculous. 

My Mom, my Dad, my sister and her husband (their unborn child)—they were all on that boat. I wasn’t there. 

But in my dream….

Dreams never make any sense when you try to explain them after the fact. Perhaps it’s impossible because we don’t have the language to explain it. How do you explain the logic of taking your shoes off in order to cross a sand pit because somehow you know your shoes are too heavy when you wear them but not when you carry them? 

Or how you can simultaneously know that there is a really bad thing lurking behind a door but the you who’s dreaming doesn’t know that so you open the door anyway?

In my dream I was on the dock, begging my family not to get into the boat, trying to yank them backwards onto land, arms too weak to do anything but stretch out helplessly.

I was on the boat, begging them to turn back, just turn back now. Doom hovered over my head and as they laughed and joked around me I bawled in terror at what I knew (didn’t know) was coming.

It was a dream.

It was real.

It had already happened.

It was happening right then.

They were alive.

They were dead.

And it was all my fault because I couldn’t get them off the boat.

In my dream I was filled with a shrieking dread of what was going to happen in the very next moment. Every moment was the very next moment of their deaths. Every second was the last second I could try and save them. Every second was wasted as the moment of their death drew nearer.

I don’t know if I’m lucky that I never actually see them die in my dreams. 

But the anticipation sure is a killer.

I woke with a cry on my lips and panic in my chest. I thought I could hear someone say my name, but then again, the echoes of the past are always loudest when we traverse the bounds of sleeping and waking.

There was no one to say my name anymore. They were all dead.

Dead.

I curled into myself and shook with barely suppressed sobs. I don’t know why I was suppressing them. It didn’t matter if I cried or not. Nothing mattered. They were all dead.

Dead.

Fear and panic and despair clawed at my insides. I couldn’t breathe through it all, it was too much. I gasped and inhaled desperately but nothing helped. It was as if someone had given my fear a form complete with talons and a body made for rending as it rent me from the inside out.

Lily.

My past whispered at me again. I muffled a scream into my hands and cried harder.

‘Lily.’

Go away go away you’re not real you’re all dead there’s no one there you’re all dead why are you dead why can’t you be alive oh god please why aren’t you alive why aren’t I dead I can be dead please let me be dead please please please—

‘Lily.’ There was a light touch on my shoulder. I screamed and backed myself into the corner of the wall where my bed was pushed. I flung my arms over my head and rocked back and forth, back and forth, wishing that I could believe that this was all a dream, that this was the nightmare I could wake up from—

This is all a dream, this is all a dream, this is all a dream…

‘Lily.’ A deep voice with a touch of gravel to it. A real voice. A voice I knew, but it wasn’t from the past. A recent voice…

The bed dipped slightly under the weight of someone sitting on the edge.

‘Lily.’

Recognition. I clenched my arms even tighter over my head as I fought for control of my voice.

‘Bu—Bucky,’ I chattered out through swooping breaths. The fear cranked itself to a higher pitch and I couldn’t help the whimper that escaped me. I tried to curl up even tighter on myself as if compression would squeeze my problems out.

I could hear Bucky saying something but the words didn’t register until he repeated himself.

‘Lily. What do you need?’

Need? Ha. Need. I need…

I need a crack-less cavern. Solitudinous, bubble shaped for convenience of no entrances. And they say keep it open to the sun to the moon to the stars to me to them to wind to dirt to world—

‘Lily.’

My name again. My name.

Bucky.

Right.

I need…

I need this all to go away. I need…

‘Downstairs,’ I forced out. ‘Cider. Just the one—I don’t—I—‘ my throat clenched and my words turned to a silent moan. There are things I want to say, to explain—

I’m okay, I’m fine, I’m really not that far gone, don’t worry about me, I’m fine, this isn’t what it looks like—

It’s exactly what it looks like.

It could be only an instant later that I felt Bucky’s weight on the mattress again. I clenched involuntarily. He made a soothing sound, something like, ‘Easy there,’ and then I felt the cool press of a bottle against my arm. Unwrapping my arms from around myself hurt, but then the bottle was in my hand and the first sip was down my throat and God I know how wrong it sounds, how wrong it looks, but this is the only thing I’ve ever found that will stop my panic attacks in their tracks. 

I sipped mouthfuls from the bottle and tried to keep my shaking from spilling anything. About halfway through I could feel the wall go up, the glass wall in between me and my fear. It was still there, still scrabbling with its talons against the glass, but it wasn’t reaching me anymore. I could still see it but it couldn’t hurt me like it had before.

I sagged against my bedroom wall, no longer trying to squeeze my panic out like it was toothpaste and I was a toothpaste tube. Half of the cider was gone and realistically I didn’t need the rest of it, it had done its job, but there’s no reason to waste it so I kept drinking.

All this time Bucky had stayed silent and watchful across from me on the diagonal corner of the bed. Far enough away to not crowd me, but close enough to offer comfort or help. At least, I think. It was hard to figure out Bucky when I was at my best, and I certainly wasn’t at my best.

‘Thanks,’ I finally said. He might have nodded. My room was dark so all I could see was his vague shape. I felt like I owed him some sort of explanation but I couldn’t think of where to start. I opened and closed my mouth several times but each time I gave up and just took another drink of my cider. Soon the bottle was empty and I cradled it loosely between my crossed legs. God, how did I ever get in this mess?

‘Another?’ Bucky shifted slightly as if to get up.

‘What? No!’ I said forcefully. Too forcefully. Bucky flinched. ‘No,’ I said again, much softer. ‘Thank you, but—‘ a shudder ran through me. ‘No.’

We were both silent for a moment before I found the courage to explain. 

‘It’s not right, I know it’s not right—drinking to get rid of a panic attack. But I—‘ I gusted out a faint laugh, ‘I’ve never found anything else that works. 

‘I started having panic attacks right before college. I was just so stressed, you know? So worried about everything and it all caught up to me. I’d wake up in the middle of the night so afraid of things that could never happen—physically couldn’t happen, like eating my own brain—but it didn’t matter. I was so afraid, and I couldn’t do anything about it until it faded away on its own. I tried so many things. I read, listened to music, worked out—even crawled into my parent’s bed again and let my mom hold me. Nothing helped. Nothing but time ever made it go away.’ I laughed bitterly. ‘Time. It felt endless. Felt like it would never be over, felt—‘ I cut myself off.

‘Anyway, I figured out since I couldn’t stop it after they happened, I might as well try and keep myself from getting that stressed in the first place. It worked out pretty well, but not forever.’ I shifted against the wall, trying to get more comfortable. Bucky didn’t move an inch. I couldn’t tell if he was interested or not in what I was saying, but he wasn’t leaving. So that was something.

‘Happened again a couple times when I was older. Old enough that I could try drinking a little to see if it helped. And God, it helped. I was so happy, so deliriously happy that I’d found something that helped. No more hours of fear, no more spikes of despair through my stomach—just, no more. 

‘But it was all wrong. I know better than to ‘drink away my problems.’ We’ve had alcoholics in my family before, and I knew this was the start of something bad but I promised myself—I promised myself—it would only be just the one. If I never had more than one beer—or cider or whatever—it couldn’t get that bad. I hardly drink anyway, so having one extra beer every so often couldn’t be that bad, right?’ I laughed softly. 

‘I tell myself it’s for medicinal purposes. Funny, right? Except that’s what all the alcoholics say.’

‘You’re not an alcoholic,’ Bucky said.

‘Says the man who had to carry me up the stairs after I passed out in the kitchen,’ I shot back. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like I wanted him to think badly of me.

‘You hadn’t slept in two days.’

‘Well, yeah, but—‘ wait a minute, ‘How did you know that? We weren’t exactly talking at the time.’ We hadn’t been. It was right after Bucky had had his PTSD episode and I’d thrown that pillow at him. The next two days we’d avoided seeing each other until Laura had made her unexpected visit. 

The room was dark but I could see Bucky turn his head away from me. ‘The house sounds different when you’re asleep.’ He said it quietly as if admitting a terrible crime. I guess it sort of was, when you’d been a super soldier assassin using those skills for the wrong people for so many years.

It should have creeped me out, you know? Just like it should have creeped me out that Bucky had followed me to my high school reunion and nearly beat Peter to death. Or the way he downed a tree in my backyard while doing calisthenics. Or the way… 

There were so many things about Bucky that should have been hold-the-phone, run-away-screaming creepy—but they weren’t. They were just minorly creepy. They were just…Bucky.

‘Okay.’ I said. My standard response when confronted with Bucky-weirdness. He can tell when I’m asleep or awake. Okay.

_He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake…_

Oh god no.

_He knows if you’ve been bad or good…_

Please stop.

_So be good for goodness sake._

I nearly double over in semi-hysterical laughter. I’m sure I’m confusing the hell out of Bucky at the moment but come on! That song’s always been a little creepy and now—

Now it’s even more hilarious because I get to imagine Bucky in a Santa Claus outfit bringing guns and murder to all the boys and girls of the world. 

Better watch out Hydra. Better not pout and cry. Better just run because Bucky’s coming to town.

My laughter subsides a little but I know I’ve made Bucky unhappy because he slides off the bed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No wait, Bucky—‘ He stopped. ‘My fault, really, it’s just—it made me think of a really inappropriate song and then it was in my head and…well. I’m not mad. Or upset. I’m…tired. Just tired.’ God I’m so tired.

‘I should go then.’

No please don’t! I want to say. 

Really? I don’t want him to leave? I’m tired as all get out and all I want to do is sleep but apparently I’d rather he stick around for that. God I’m muddled when I’m tired.

‘Please don’t.’

Wait, did I just say that aloud? I must have because Bucky’s still here. Oh no. Nope. Where’s the backspace button for real life? ‘I mean, never mind. Sorry Bucky. I—I’m good.’ I smile into the dark like it matters. ‘Thank you. For everything.’

Bucky’s still not leaving. In fact he doesn’t leave so much that he instead walks back over to the bed and sits with his back to the wall next to it on the floor.

Um, what? 

‘You don’t—you don’t have to—‘ I stammered out.

‘I don’t ‘have to’ do anything.’ Bucky said unequivocally.

Well right. You don’t. Okay. Deep breath Lily.

I lay back down on the bed, fumbling a little with the empty cider bottle until Bucky reached out and I gave it to him. He carefully put it in the trash next to the bed and leaned back against the wall as if he were prepared to stand watch the whole rest of the night. 

What do you say to that?

‘Good night, Bucky.’

‘Night, Lily.’


	16. Chapter 16

If—in my sleep—I’d been able to come up with expectations for what would happen when I woke up, they certainly wouldn’t have included finding Bucky still sitting next to my bed.

Which he was. Still there.

Urgh. I am so not awake enough to figure this out right now.

I’m sure I made some weird sleepy confusion faces that degenerated into me pushing my face into my mattress and mumble-groaning. I don’t know why, but sometimes it makes me feel better.

At least, better enough to manage a, ‘G’Morning,’ and a slight smile.

Be still my beating heart Bucky almost smiled back. Well, when I say smile, I mean his face lost its glarey-ness and was almost soft. So, a Bucky-smile.

This made me smile even more which was probably not the best idea because I can go from ‘slightly cute and endearing smile’ to ‘embarrassingly goofy smile’ in about 0 seconds. But whatever. I like smiling.

Bucky shook his head slightly as if he couldn’t understand why I was smiling at him so widely but he didn’t get up to leave so at least my strange morning smiles weren’t driving him away.

I rubbed the sleep sand out of my eyes and grimaced slightly at the volume of it. I blinked to clear my vision then did my best to push my hair back from my face. I’m sure I looked like a typical morning disaster but honestly I’ve seen Bucky in worse shape so I felt surprisingly little shame about it.

About looking bad, at least.

I was feeling plenty of oodles of shame about last night, though. And yeah I know it’s not logical or anything but there it was. I’d had a bad dream and freaked out about as badly as you can freak out and Bucky’d had to rescue me. Again.

You know before I met him I’d have sworn that I was not a likely damsel in distress—I’d been raised to look after myself—but when faced with all this evidence to the contrary my pride was smarting a bit.

Not enough to keep me from thanking him, but oh it stung a little.

‘Bucky…thank you. For…last night. Helping me. I—it doesn’t happen a lot. Anymore.’ Which is the technical truth, only because I have so many problems with insomnia that I don’t sleep enough to get nightmares.

Bucky tilted his head to the side in a silent acknowledgement. I shut my eyes and tried to muster up the strength to get out of bed. I brought my arms into position to push myself up but my body did the equivalent of a whiny moan so I aborted the motion and curled up into a ball instead. So what. Don’t judge me.

I heard a small huff of air that—if he had been almost anyone else—might have been Bucky snorting at my antics, but since he was Bucky I chalked it up to his feeling stiff as he stood up and walked out of my room. I tried to ignore the drop in my stomach. He had spent the entire night at my bedside. Don’t get greedy Lily.

My eyes flew open in surprise when I heard him return. There was a cup in his hand and I sat up automatically as he offered it to me. It was the cup from the bathroom and as I took my first sip of water I realized how thirsty I was and downed half of it in one go. Bucky had this strange look on his face, almost like intent satisfaction as he watched me swallow the water. I tried to offer him the rest of it but his face blanked out and he shook his head. Okay. I drank the rest of it in smaller sips but it was soon gone. 

Bucky held out his hand for the cup and I gave it back to him. And away he went…

I fully expected that this time he would just go downstairs and stop…whatever he was trying to do for me. But he didn’t. I heard him place the cup back in the bathroom and then he was hovering on the threshold of my room.

‘Breakfast.’ He said as if that explained everything, then he turned and I could hear his footsteps on the stairs.

It was strange, hearing that. Hearing another person’s footsteps on those stairs. When my family had been alive I could tell you within two steps who was climbing the stairs. Even now I half-expected to hears a certain level of weight that would mean it was my dad, or a strange crack that came from my mom’s ankles every other step. Bucky made almost no sound on the stairs despite his size but the sound of his steps were firm and even and it felt good to have someone making sound in the house other than me.

When Bucky first arrived he spent the first two days dead asleep in the basement, and even the days after that had been filled with more silences than not. I had grown used to the quiet over my months alone—but I’d grown used to it in the way you grow used to an omnipresent annoying hum or clanging. Now that it had stopped, now that there were the small sounds of life in the house again I was desperate not to go back to the way it was.

I was still sitting up in bed when I heard the fridge open and shut several times. Moments later, a clattering that was the sound of a frying pan placed over the stove.

Was…Bucky cooking breakfast?

The sound of a whisk beating in a bowl floated up the stairs and through the open door of my bedroom, followed by the faint crackle of butter in the frying pan.

Eggs. I would bet anything that Bucky was cooking scrambled eggs.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, confused.

Was Bucky cooking me breakfast?

Why?

_Well maybe because he’s a nice person, Lily._

Well yeah you don’t have to tell me twice. I mean, other than his bestie Steve Rogers (oh my god) I might be one of the only people in the world who has personal experience with good-guy-Bucky. 

But you can still be a good person and not make me breakfast. The world is full of people who haven’t made me breakfast and I’m betting some of them are very nice.

I wandered to the bathroom in a bit of a daze, feeling that my life took a surreal turn somewhere and I wasn’t exactly sure when it had happened. 

I did what I had to do then washed my hands, staring a bit into the mirror as I did so. Well, I was right when I thought earlier that I looked like a typical morning disaster. My face was creased and red from where it had been smushed into my bed and my hair was standing up in improbable ways, but eh. Mornings. 

It was almost encouraging. If I had looked good, I would have for sure been dreaming this, or had fallen into an alternate dimension where people always wake up pretty.

But since I looked like this, I guess this was reality.

Huh.

So I went downstairs to watch a supersoldier spysassin make me breakfast.

At least—it occurred to me as I schlumped down the stairs—I hope he was making some of that for me, or this would be somewhat awkward.

There were two plates set out next to the stove so no worries on that front. I filled a cup with water for myself, cleared my throat and asked, ‘Do you want something to drink?’

The look Bucky flicked at the jug of water in my hand was a clear no, but he hesitated. ‘Do you have coffee?’

Ohhh, a coffee man.

‘Yeah sure. Should still be some around. It might taste like hazelnut, though.’ I warned. My mom had loved hazelnut coffee. Bucky just shrugged indifferently.

I filled the kettle and put it on the stove to boil, sharing the small space with Bucky as I searched through a cabinet for the coffee and a filter. We did a little dance around each other as Bucky lifted the eggs off the stove and scraped them onto the waiting plates and took them off to the table. I set up the coffee and was prepared to wait until the water boiled but Bucky wasn’t having it.

He appeared at my shoulder. ‘C’mon. Your eggs’ll get cold.’

I shrugged and walked to the table. The both of us sat down. Halfway through my eggs—which were delicious, by the way—it occurred to me that eggs were the first thing I ever made for Bucky on that terrible awkward night just a week ago when he broke into the house.

It was almost like an anniversary dinner where we replicated our first date. Except with less violence and less…date-ness. Never mind. That was a terrible metaphor.

However I felt about it, I didn’t think I should make a big deal out of it, though, so I just smiled to myself and kept eating.

I heard the water come to a boil and started to rise out of my seat to deal with it but Bucky waved me off.

‘I think I can make myself a cup of coffee,’ He said, but with some humor. My answering sheepish smile garnered me a smirk. Wow. Bucky really was in top form this morning.

When he sat back down with his cup I nudged the sugar pot a little closer to him. Is it any surprise that at least three spoonfulls ended up in the coffee?

Not really.

As I finished up the last of my eggs it settled over me how…domestic, this all was. How comfortable to have Bucky and I sharing breakfast together like we’d done it a dozen times before, instead of this being our first. I mean, we’d eaten together before, but not like this.

I was feeling pretty full from the eggs but I knew how much Bucky could eat and I had a suspicion that what he’d already eaten had only taken the edge off his hunger. And despite what had happened last night, I felt pretty good. Good enough to tackle a basic biscuit recipe anyway.

Normally after a night like that I’d feel drained and dead all day. I’d be lucky to even get out of bed, let alone feel like cooking something more complicated than ramen. Lots of days I hadn’t eaten anything.

But today, today was good. Whether it was the comforting presence of Bucky by my side last night or the way he’d made an effort to take care of me this morning, I didn’t know and didn’t particularly care. 

Today was good. I didn’t have enough good days to go looking a gift horse in the mouth.

So I started making cheese biscuits. Because if you’re going to have a carb, it might as well have cheese in it.

Bucky hovered a little as I started gathering what I needed so I pushed aside all rational thoughts about whether or not this was a good idea and just started asking him for things.

Like, ‘There should be cheese and heavy cream in the fridge—no, the cheddar—yes perfect.’ And ‘Over there in the corner cabinet, could you get the baking powder? Thanks.’ 

As the biscuits took shape I started explaining all that I was doing, as well as telling the story of the first time I’d made them and other things to do with baking in my family. I might have gotten a bit over excited talking about how my mom taught me when I was so little I couldn’t even remember ‘not’ knowing how to bake, but Bucky took it in stride. And it was nice, you know, talking about my family in a way that didn’t hurt. I had a lot of good memories and it was nice to remember some of them.

I made Bucky poke the dough when it was done, just to give him a feel for what it should be like. He made a face when it stuck to his finger a little and I couldn’t help laughing.

‘It’s supposed to do that a little, promise.’ Bucky may or may not have grimaced then gone to the sink to scrub his finger free of the offending dough. I divided the dough onto the baking sheet and then put it into the oven. After setting the timer I started cleaning up. Like he’d done before, Bucky stood at my side and dried the dishes as I handed them to him.

Now that the task was done, I wasn’t sure what to say. Bucky seemed to be having a really good day but I didn’t want to push him into doing more than he was comfortable with. I’ve had so-so success with interacting with Bucky. I do well for a time and then—bam! I run straight into a landmine issue that throws him into a PTSD loop. 

Of course, I should have guessed that Bucky would take things into his own hands.

And that he wouldn’t go for the soft option.

‘Your family. What happened to them?’

My automatic desire to respond ‘Dead.’ didn’t seem appropriate. Of course they were dead. Bucky was smart enough to have figured that out. But I was used to shutting down people wanting to talk about it. Not so used to dealing with it.

But Bucky deserved some answers, especially after last night.

I dried my hands on a dish towel and stepped away from the sink. 

‘They were on vacation in the Outer Banks. I didn’t go because of work. I was working the day—

‘They rented a boat. Small motor boat, just for the day. Get out on the ocean a little. My mom loved the ocean, and my Dad didn’t mind too much—he liked driving a boat every once in a while. My sister and her husband were there that day too. Visiting.’

I didn’t tell Bucky about my unborn niece/nephew. That grief was far too private.

‘I—I don’t really know what went wrong. The police tried to explain, but—well. I wasn’t listening very well. Couldn’t—‘ I swallowed hard. ‘I just couldn’t. 

‘The boat caught on fire. Or exploded. Or…something. They were either killed in the blast or just stunned enough to drown before someone came to help. Doesn’t take long to drown.’ I looked up at Bucky, and his face should have terrified me. I could see the calculation behind his eyes. He knew exactly how long it too for someone to drown. He might have even been remembering doing some of it himself. But all that meant to me was that I didn’t have to explain further. Bucky got it. He knew.

‘It’s what I was dreaming about, last night.’ That got me a reaction. His eyes flicked straight to mine and stayed there. ‘I couldn’t stop it. I was there and I couldn’t stop it.’ I couldn’t say anything more. This was the most I’d actually talked about what had happened since the funeral. The paltry pieces of information I’d given out at the reunion didn’t count. That was all, ‘Yes, they died three months ago. No, it was in North Carolina. Boating accident.’

Boating accident.

Some accident.

I noticed that Bucky’s hands were knotted around the dish towel he was holding. I wanted to put my hands on top of his, gently loosen his grip and say, ‘it’s okay, it’s fine.’ But it wasn’t okay. And it was far from fine. Bucky knew it, I knew it—none of this was okay.

We stood there in the kitchen for a bit until the oven timer dinged. I checked the biscuits—they looked slightly golden brown and puffy. Perfect. I could use some comfort food.

I used an oven mitt to take the tray out of the oven and when I took it off I saw Bucky looking at it, then at his metal hand, as if wondering if he’d found a new use for it. Got to say, that would be pretty handy.

Oooh, ouch. Pun not meant, but oh if the shoe fits.

Or the glove.

Stop it Lily.

I pried the biscuits off the tray with a metal spatula, putting a few of them on a plate and offering it to Bucky. He took one with his metal hand—I actually had a flash of jealousy, because it would be another minute before I could stand to touch them they were so hot—and gently nibbled on it. He didn’t give the small smile he seemed to reserve for sweet and sugary things, but he did look satisfied and went back for a second bite…so. You know. I think he might be okay with my baking.

I finally managed to get one in my mouth and I might have melted slightly in bliss. Hot cheesy biscuits are a weakness of mine and I’m not ashamed to admit it. There might have even been some slight moaning.

I really like cheese.

The original recipe called for grated cheese but that barely gives you enough flavor. I was a fan of chopping up tiny cheese cubes instead—got you a much better result, especially if you added twice as much as was called for.

What? It’s _cheese._

Bucky and I and our plate of biscuits somehow migrated to the couch in the living room. The silence from our earlier conversation still reigned, but it had softened somewhat and become more comfortable. Bucky of course ate most of the biscuits but then that was why I made them.

I felt a bit drowsy—not tired per se—but the sort of sleepy that lingers in the morning and makes you want to curl up and go back to sleep. I gave some thought to doing that—just snag a blanket and curl up on the couch and take a mid-morning nap—but I could tell that Bucky was getting a little restless by my side. I decided to check in.

‘Everything okay?’

Bucky shifted slightly. It wasn’t much of an answer.

‘Need to do a sweep?’ I asked with a cocked eyebrow, hoping he’d understand that I was mocking him for his obsessive ‘sweeping’ last night.

He looked confused for a moment but then his mouth actually quirked into a small grin. ‘Gotta make sure things’re clean.’ His statement had a double edge to it. For all that I didn’t think it was likely anyone would find him here, it made sense that he might feel uneasy.

He pushed himself up from the couch and went down the stairs into the basement. About half a minute later I heard the basement door slide open and then close. I didn’t bother getting up to look out the back window—I’m sure all I’d see was Bucky disappearing into the woods, if he hadn’t already.

Giving up on my nap as a lost cause I went back upstairs. I hadn’t done any serious reading in a while and today seemed like it might be a good time to catch up. And by catch up I mean rereading any number of my favorite books of which I have four entire bookcases full.

Books.

I usually like to match my mood with a specific book or series—after all this time amassing my collection, I have a lot of options. Do I want to feel sad? Happy? Melancholy? Do I want adventure? Magic? Heartbreak? Fairy tales? Arthurian legends? 

So many books. So many worlds. Sometimes I find it nearly impossible to choose between them.

Today, however, I decided to relax into an old favorite: By The Sword, by Mercedes Lackey. It’s got a little bit of everything: fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, true love, miracles—haha no wait, that’s the Princess Bride, but it’s a pretty accurate summary. I just really love Lackey’s style of writing. Her characters are wondrously in depth and her world building is detailed but not heavy handed. Reading one of her books always feels like coming home.

Despite the fact that I’d read it before it was easy to get caught up in the story. So caught up in fact, that I didn’t hear Bucky re-enter the house, climb the stairs, and stand outside my bedroom doorway. When he spoke, I jumped.

‘I used to read.’

Wow, heart, way to go for the gold. But maybe we should slow down a little and answer the nice man’s question. If it was a question. I mean, it’s Bucky, so it was probably a question masquerading as a statement. Get it together Lily.

‘What did you read?’ Good, good—that was calm, pleasant. Normal.

Bucky shoved his hair out of his face, the face that was tight with frustration. 

Oh bother. Why can’t I ever get things right? 

Surprisingly, he had an answer for me.

‘They were…they went into space. Space ships, yeah, they were on space ships and they fought aliens.’ Bucky’s face eased into satisfaction. I can’t even imagine how hard it is for him to remember certain details of his life before—considering it’d only been a week since he couldn’t remember what to do in a shower or if he liked sugar in his tea, this moment was like fireworks on the fourth of July!

‘Sci-fi,’ I said, ‘Or wait, I mean—Science fiction. Fun stuff.’ I smiled, trying to make up for my bumbling tendencies. Bucky didn’t smile back, but I think it was because he’d already used up so much energy getting to this point. He shoulders hunched in a little and I could see that if I didn’t do something soon, I might lose him.

I put my book down and got out of bed, walking over to my bookshelves.

‘Hmm, well, I don’t have as much sci-fi as I do Fantasy. I have a lot of fantasy,’ I chuckled, then started reviewing my shelves. ‘Orson Scott Card,’ wait, children press-ganged into war, oops. ‘Frank Herbert,’ Dune series, not bad, but heavy on the politics. ‘Tad Williams,’ Otherland not a good choice. Too much musing on the nature of reality and getting trapped in a computer program. ‘Anne McCaffrey? Hmm…’ best choice so far, really. I pulled Nimisha’s Ship off the shelf and offered it to Bucky.

‘Here. Try this for a bit, and if you don’t like it I’ll try to find you something better.’ Bucky looked at the book in my hands for a long moment and I almost thought he wouldn’t take it. But he put his hand out slowly and took it gently as if he was afraid his grip would damage it. ‘Have fun,’ I said, trying to remind him that reading a book shouldn’t be the cause for anxiety but instead enjoyment. Bucky gave me a blank look then disappeared.

Well, I guess we’ve used up all his social skills for today: not surprising. 

I settled back into my book and pushed the world aside and before I knew it several hours had passed and the book was half finished. I checked the time: it was nearly two. I winced. Sometimes (all the time) it’s easy for me to get caught up in a good story and forget that I wanted to eat lunch two hours ago. 

Something struck me, then. I hadn’t heard Bucky puttering around in the kitchen either. A flash of worry went through me. I hope he’s okay…

I scrambled down the stairs and landed at the bottom with an ungainly thud. There wasn’t much I could do if Bucky was having problems, but it seemed unlikely to me that he would skip a meal when I knew the amount of food it took to feed him.

As I suspected, the kitchen looked exactly as it had when I went upstairs that morning. If Bucky had made himself a sandwich or something, he’d made sure not to leave even a single stray crumb around as proof.

Ha. Right. 

I mean, I know he’s super sneaky and quiet and all, but no one makes food in my house without me knowing it—and no one can make food without leaving a crumb behind.

I faced the basement door with a scrunched expression on my face. I had promised Bucky his privacy when he was in his room, but there was no reason I couldn’t go down there and knock, right?

The sound of a page turning coming from the living room behind me made me blink and turn around. I walked delicately around the corner to see Bucky sitting on the sofa with his back against the arm and his legs sprawled across the length. His expression was rapt and his eyes darted quickly along the lines of text. He was about a quarter of the way through the book, rather a good reading pace.

What surprised me most, however, was that he didn’t look up. Either he hadn’t noticed I was there (unlikely), or else he was comfortable enough with me standing there staring at him (possibly), or maybe he was just really into my book enough that he didn’t want to stop reading it even to give me a glare.

Huh.

I backed away and returned to the kitchen, trying to turn my mind back to preparing lunch. 

I ended up making grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. I left three sandwiches and a big bowl of the soup on an end table next to Bucky’s elbow. Hopefully he’d eat them—if he was anything like me when I get reading, there would be a feeling of distant gratitude that he didn’t have to get up or stop reading in order to eat.

Well, just so long as he ate, I certainly didn’t care if he stayed on the couch and kept reading.

That would be a bit hypocritical of me, donchaknow. 

I went back upstairs with a smile on my face, accompanied by the flicking of pages as they turned.

Today…today was good.


	17. Chapter 17

Bucky and I continued our separate reading parties all throughout the day and even past dinner time. I repeated my lunchtime action of leaving food at Bucky’s elbow (he’d eaten the grilled cheeses and all the soup, even if the dishes hadn’t migrated to the kitchen sink) and then I proceeded to finish reading my book over my own dinner. 

And when I say I finished reading the book over dinner, I mean that I finished eating dinner some hours before I finished the book but I was so caught up in the story that I didn’t want to move even to get dessert. 

You’d think I’d never read it before, but ah well. It’s a good story!

The worst part of a good story is the ending, though, so I comforted myself with a bowl of ice cream before I washed up the dirty dishes from today. 

Bucky was still on the couch, furiously reading through his own book. I can’t say that it didn’t cause a bunch of warm fuzzies to fill me. That would be a horrible ugly lie. I was practically filled with warm fuzzies all the way up to my nostrils to see Bucky absorbed in what might have been his first book read for fun since…

Never mind that Lily, not unless you want to be seriously depressed…?

Nope. Ignoring that.

It was late enough that I felt justified in wishing Bucky a quiet, ‘Good night,’ before going back to my bedroom. I was probably going to just watch some tv for a couple hours, but I didn’t want to disturb Bucky by asking him if he wanted to join me. He was _reading_. Hee. I did a small happy dance that was mostly internal but involved a little up and down bobbling and arm flailing. I’d given him a book and he was reading it. Few things feel as good as having your good taste and personal recommendations verified by the person you gave them to. 

At least, I hoped Bucky was enjoying the book and not just pushing through out of some misplaced idea that it would please me. I mean sure, I’d be pleased if he liked it, but if he read it all and hated it the entire time I’d be miffed. 

Life is too short to read bad books.

Somebody get me that on a t-shirt, stat.

Doctor Who worked its familiar enthralling magic for a couple of hours. Ten and Donna make such a fun pair to watch, although I was coming up on Midnight soon, and I’d have to skip over it. I _hate_ that episode. It freaks me out and makes me so mad at everyone on that stupid bus. Grrr. I don’t watch Doctor Who to see humans behaving stupidly. If I wanted to see that, all I’d have to do is turn on the news. God.

It was 1am by the time I decided I should probably get some sleep. I’d heard Bucky go back down into the basement some time ago—maybe he’d finished the book??—and the house was quiet. I put my computer on the floor between the bed and the wall and snuggled down into my blankets fully prepared to conk out and wake up rested.

Silly me.

At first it felt just like normal. I thought about all the things that had happened today. Thought about Bucky and how strange it was to have him around, but good at the same time. I thought about seeing Laura on Thursday for Pizza and PJ’s. I thought about what I wanted to eat for breakfast. And maybe lunch tomorrow. And did I need to go shopping for anything?

It occurred to me that an hour had passed without any decrease in my awakeness levels. Bother.

It was always a tricky thing, going to sleep the night after I had one of my panic attacks. Sometimes it seemed like my mind was keeping me up deliberately so I couldn’t repeat last night’s fun times. Which was simultaneously welcome—yay no nightmares and panic attacks!—and infuriating—I hate you insomnia why won’t you just leave me alone?

Yeah.

I tossed and turned for a bit, pretending that the problem was only because I hadn’t gotten perfectly comfortable yet. Ha.

I huffed angrily as I repositioned myself yet again. Maybe _this_ time it’ll work…

There was a knock on my closed bedroom door. I sat straight up.

‘Bucky?’ 

The door opened a crack. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Yeah, yeah sure.’ I said. I hoped everything was okay. 

The door opened fully then shut behind the dark mass of Bucky that was all I could make out in my lightless room. He hovered by the shut door, ‘Should I turn on a light?’

‘Oh! Only if you want one.’ It was dark so I have no idea if he shrugged or if that was just a trick of my dark-dazed eyes. He did walk closer to the bed, though, sitting on the floor exactly where he had last night.

‘You can’t sleep.’ His statement was calm, almost friendly. And like most of his statements, _almost_ a question.

‘No.’ I sighed. ‘Can’t seem to do it.’ I remembered what he’d said last night about how the house sounded different when I was awake/asleep (which is probably how he knew to come upstairs at this exact time). ‘I wasn’t keeping you awake, was I? I’m so sorry—‘

‘No,’ Bucky cut in. ‘No.’ Then a little later. ‘I wasn’t asleep.’ 

I figured what he really meant was, ‘I can’t sleep.’ Well that makes two of us, Bucky.

‘Everything okay?’ I felt compelled to check in. Everything wasn’t okay, I knew that, but there are some things you just have to ask your spysassin supersoldier roommate at 2 in the morning when neither of you can sleep. ‘It’s not the book keeping you up, right?’

There was a huff of breath from Bucky that might have been a small snort. ‘No.’

‘Well good. I’d hate for my recommendation to be that off base.’

‘It wasn’t.’

It wasn’t? Squee!!

‘Did you finish it?’ I hoped all my questions wouldn’t upset Bucky, but talking about books at 2am was certainly better than lying awake angrily setting sheep on fire in my head. 

‘Yes.’

‘Did you like it?’ I asked hopefully.

A pause from Bucky. Not a bad pause, mind, but a gathering-of-words pause.

‘Can we do that yet?’

Confusion. ‘What?’

I heard Bucky shift as if looking towards me. ‘Go to space.’

‘Sort of. We’ve been to the moon and people are talking about going to Mars someday soon. That’s pretty cool.’

‘It’s just—‘ Bucky huffs. Uh-oh. Please don’t be upset, please don’t be upset. ‘It’s been _seventy years_. Why don’t we have colonies on other planets already? 

‘And where the hell are our flying cars? I remember being promised flying cars if I ever got to the future.’

Halfway through his rant my mouth dropped open as I realized that Bucky was making fun of the future. Or the past. Whatever. _He was making a joke_. God Almighty. 

I giggled a little. It was the right thing to do. I could feel an easing of tension from Bucky sitting next to me.

‘On behalf of the future,’ I said solemnly, ‘I apologize for the lack of flying cars. I really don’t know why we’ve been slacking but it’s an unpardonable tragedy I know.’

‘Damn straight.’

I laughed, and although he didn’t make a sound it almost felt like Bucky laughed with me. A comfortable silence fell after.

‘I liked the talking ship. And the aliens weren’t bad like I thought they’d be.’ I hadn’t expected Bucky to answer my question after he’s somewhat avoided it earlier, but his words made me wriggle a little with happiness.

‘The AI’s are pretty cool. And it’s sometimes nice to have aliens that aren’t trying to kill you. Oh wait—‘ I just remembered the coolest things that Bucky might not have heard of. ‘We actually do have AI’s now! Or, well, Tony Stark is supposed to have one. He calls it JARVIS. And even though we haven’t been to space much the aliens keep coming here so…’

There was a definite lack of response from Bucky. Almost a sort of, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ silence. No kidding Bucky. Just wait till I show you pictures of Thor.

And the Chitauri. But they’re far less pretty.

‘Promise I’m not lying. I’ll show you proof later.’ There’s an indefinite hmm-ing noise from Bucky. Fine, doubter. You’ll eat your ‘hmm’ later.

‘Do you want another book?’ I yawn. Mmm, sleep, don’t fail me now.

‘Tomorrow.’

‘It’s today already,’ I nitpick as I yawned again.

‘Jeez, fine. Today.’ Bucky drawled out, not half as annoyed as he pretended to be.

‘Kay.’ Short and sweet. Best defense in times of sarcasm, keeps replies down to a frustrated ‘hmmf’ usually. Ha.

I settle deeper into my bed, happy to feel sleep creeping up on me, but something pinged at my consciousness. ‘Hey?’

‘What?’

‘Are you—are you going to stay up here again? While I sleep?’

Bucky shifts. ‘I can go—‘

‘No, s’okay, just—you don’t have to stay on the floor. Bed’s big enough. I can move over.’ I demonstrate by sliding to the other half of the queen size bed. ‘See? I feel like you’re already doing me a favor, staying up with me—I don’t want you to feel like I’m making you sleep on the floor.’

A stray memory passed through my tired mind of Bucky’s sleeping setup in the basement. Oops. I forgot, and now he probably feels like I’m forcing him to do something he doesn’t want and that’s awful and—

Bucky interrupts my racing thoughts by standing and then sitting hesitantly on the side of the bed. Once there he lies down abruptly, stiff as a board. 

Well okay. I hope you loosen up before you strain something, though. 

‘Night Bucky.’ I whisper. It just seems like the thing to do.

‘Night Lily.’ He says quietly back. And it doesn’t take long at all for sleep to roll up over me like a comfy blanket but right before it all fades to black I swore I could hear him murmur, ‘You’re the one who’s doing me a favor.’


	18. Chapter 18

Oh Bother.

I messed up. I messed up big time.

Only, it wasn’t my fault, right? I was asleep! I don’t remember curling onto my side and facing Bucky in the middle of the night. And I certainly don’t remember inching closer and closer to him until I might as well be attached to the poor man. 

And it’s all so awful because I’ve never woken up happier.

My first impressions when waking up were that I felt warm and safe and oh so comfortable. I was pressed up against the source of warmth and safety and my sleep muddled head nuzzled at it as if I could possibly get any closer to it or feel any better because of it.

Then—

Oh Bother—

No—

I didn’t do anything so dramatic as jump back or screech, but my heartrate swooped up to airplane cruising level and my stomach lurched unpleasantly. Urgh.

I eased myself away from Bucky, trying desperately not to make things awkward—

How can they not be awkward, Lily? You just cuddled the man against his will while you were asleep and he was…

Maybe asleep?

Please dear God. Please?

God does not love me that much. Or at least, not in that way.

Bucky was awake. 

Bucky was…smiling?

Oh, that’s lethal and so unfair. Whyever did Hydra think the man needed guns and knives? They could have sent him out with nothing but that smile and he’d have been just as effective.

‘Good morning.’ He said.

I felt like my mouth should have been pouring out noises like I was Bill Cosby at the dentist’s office—I flubwuhub haduv? But I actually managed to say, ‘Morning,’ back as if I wasn’t freaking out. Or at least, only having a minor freak out.

Of course my instincts caught up with me and then I was apologizing faster than the speed of light.

‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—I didn’t know I was, and then you must have felt so awkward and—‘ Bucky’s smile dimmed. Oh no, I deserve to be shot for making him stop smiling. Quick, Lily, fix this! ‘I’m grateful, really really really grateful. You have no idea how much! I haven’t…that was really—‘ Oh just spit it out for goodness’ sake, ‘the best sleep I’ve had in a long long time.’ I finished on a whisper as I curled up into the protective fetal position and shut my eyes.

I couldn’t see Bucky anymore but I felt the bed shift as he moved and when I opened my eyes I saw him curled up on his side facing me, his expression serious.

‘Me too, Lily.’

Me too, Lily. Wait, what? 

‘Really?’ 

He nodded. Oh. Well then. I smiled hesitantly at him. When he smiled back at me it was smaller than it had been when I’d first woken up but it was gentle and sincere and Oh God I can’t believe I’d thought his previous sugar smiles were enchanting because this—this was like seeing the sun after a long winter.

‘You didn’t mind me…being all octopus?’ I made a vague gesture.

He shook his head. ‘It felt…real.’

Real. Good.

‘I felt safe.’ I said, feeling like I should offer something back. His face fell a little. Nooo!

‘I’m not safe.’

I wanted to willfully misunderstand him and say something like, ‘Of course not! You have Hydra after you. How is that safe?’ But I didn’t want to completely ruin this morning by bringing Hydra into it so I decided to say something else. 

‘My instincts are pretty good. If you were creepy and scary I don’t think that would have happened.’ Please don’t be sad, Bucky.

One corner of his mouth twisted as if he wanted to disagree with me but understood that we were going to have to agree to disagree. I wrinkled my nose at him. You should know by now that I am always right, Bucky.

Except when it comes to your PTSD.

Or my own emotional problems.

Or—

Fine, fine, fine—I’m NOT always right, will you leave it alone already?

Maybe.

Grr.

I didn’t know if what my instincts were telling me to do next was a good idea (see: my entire life) but I wanted Bucky’s smile back. So I tucked my head back down and made myself small as I inched my way under Bucky’s chin. I inhaled, exhaled, and made sure my body relaxed as much as it was capable of. Which considering I’d just woken up and was still capable of falling back to sleep with ease—

Yeah.

I felt Bucky tense a little bit around me before a heavy puff of breath stirred the hair on top of my head and then he relaxed a little too. Yay! I couldn’t tell if he smiled, but I hoped he did. 

We stayed like that for a few more minutes and even though I wasn’t all that tired I nearly drifted off again. Not that spending an entire morning in bed wasn’t a great plan, but my stomach gurgled and did that not-quite-painful clenchy thing that it does when it means business.

Urgh. On one hand: I am warm and comfy and to move will jeopardize the excellent progress Bucky and I are making at not being self-sacrificial idiots.

On the other hand: If I am this hungry, Bucky must be absolutely ravenous. Which means that he’s still being a self-sacrificial idiot. Oh bother.

I sighed, then pried myself away from Bucky’s warmth. ‘Breakfast,’ I said simply.

He gave a little head shrug. ‘More like lunch.’

Huh?

I checked my watch. The man was right. It was after noon. I’d been asleep for…nearly ten hours. Wow. Ten out of ten, would do again.

‘D’you want lunch food or breakfast food?’ I asked. Bucky’s face went entirely blank as he considered the question and right before I started to worry that I’d done something wrong, he replied, ‘Breakfast,’ with a small nod.

Pheeww. Sometimes I forgot it had barely been two weeks ago that Bucky had still been a captive of Hydra and had been brainwiped so thoroughly he’d barely qualified as a person. Shudder. But now? Now he gets to decide if he wants to eat breakfast three times a day. Not that he has yet—but I’d support him if he did. 

I just might eat something else.

But breakfast was the order of the morning (or afternoon) so Bucky and I tramped downstairs and started making the food in tandem. Bucky handled cooking the eggs and bacon while I made pancakes and boiled the water so he could have coffee. As per our usual, Bucky ate ¾ of the pancakes along with copious amounts of the eggs and bacon. I’d have to make as supply run for more eggs. We were out. 

We were washing the dishes a little after 1:00 when I mentioned the supply run to Bucky. He looked displeased.

‘It’s just a short trip, and we could really use more eggs.’ I said logically.

Bucky shifted uneasily. ‘It’s not safe.’

Nothing’s safe, Bucky. Especially now. But I think making a standard grocery run in my tiny little town is about as safe as anything in this life.

‘Do…you want to come with me?’ I asked hesitantly, expecting the answer to be ‘no.’ We’d agreed when he came back on Sunday that the less he was seen the better. Deliberately going to a place with lots of people and cameras seemed counter-intuitive.

Also, as much as I was a hermit by choice (see: the last three months), it needled me that I was being told I couldn’t leave the house when I wanted to. 

Humans really are perverse creatures.

Bucky meditatively shredded the dish towel that was in his hands. Ah well, at least I have more of those. ‘I’ll stay in the car. If there’s a problem, I’ll take care of it.’ His tone was flat. Final. Deadly.

‘Okay.’ Eep.

We left in ten minutes, enough for the both of us to change into ‘outdoor’ clothes. And in Bucky’s case, I suspected, with enough ammunition to completely devastate my entire town, small though it might be.

Who am I to argue with my spysassin roomie about what makes him happy?

Bucky wore the concealingly large coat he’d broken into my house with, along with a baseball cap he got who knows where pulled down over his brooding eyes. He was NOT happy about this outing. Not at all happy.

Welcome back, Mr. Scary Face. Long time no see.

The store really was very close. As I pulled into the lot and prepared to park, Bucky stopped me.

‘Not right up front,’ his voice was deep gravel again. ‘Somewhere in the middle in a clear spot with a quick exit.’ Right. Quick exits. For egg runs. Eep.

I complied with Bucky’s directions and found a spot not too near either the front or the back of the lot, but was also not surrounded by other cars and had a clear shot at the exit. Jeesh. This spy stuff is hard. I turned off the car and turned to hand the keys to Bucky but he shook his head. ‘Leave them in the ignition.’ Oh right. For our quick getaway. 

‘I’ll be back soon,’ I promised as I opened my door. Bucky nodded sharply, then slouched deceptively into the passenger seat. I say deceptively, because if ever there was a person capable of bringing a fiery Armageddon onto this sleepy little town, it was Bucky. Slouching or not.

As I walked into the grocery store I kept saying to myself, ‘in and out, five minutes tops. In and out, five minutes tops.’ I didn’t want to think about how long Bucky would wait semi-patiently in the car before unleashing hell on the supermarket. 

I also didn’t want to think about perhaps that hell being _necessary_ as Hydra actually was waiting for me inside. Which would make no sense. At all. Because if you were a secret evil organization that had survived for years under the very noses of every single intelligence bureau, you didn’t do stupid things like kidnap the useless accomplice in full view of an entire supermarket—especially when the very man they were looking for was actually outside. 

But even though it made no sense that Hydra would be in my supermarket I couldn’t stop looking a little harder at everyone I saw. Not too obviously, I hope, but with some discretion. I hope.

Cute little old Mrs. Trenten _couldn’t_ be a Hydra agent—unless she really was that sneaky! She’s the last person you’d suspect, right?

And that shifty couple over by the snack aisle—did you really need to spend all that time comparing pretzel prices, or were you following me discreetly?

And my cashier— _Linda_ , if that really is your name—are you being this slow deliberately because you work for Hydra and are therefore evil or are you just really hungover?

Fortunately I made it out of the store without collapsing into a black hole of paranoia.

Bucky was still waiting for me in the car. If he were another man I’d say he was jittering impatiently for me to get back, but because it’s Bucky it was more like he got colder and more intense the longer he had to wait. By the time I got back he was as cold as Antarctica and as intense as the climax of a David Fincher film.

I put the three cartons of eggs in the back seat and drove carefully away. Because if no one’s chasing you it looks mighty suspicious if you’re running. And since the point of this exercise was _not_ to draw attention to Bucky…getting pulled over for speeding would be bad. Bad bad.

Bucky didn’t relax during the ride back. I almost thought he’d make me drive some circuitous route in order to shake a tail or something but he didn’t. Once home he jumped out even before I’d put the car into park and said, ‘Stay here,’ while he went off and ran around the outside of the house before he let me bring the eggs inside. I shoved them into my still pretty full fridge as Bucky did an internal loop of the house. Once he’d confirmed that everything was still kosher—or so I assume—he went back outside to do a more thorough sweep.

Sweep away Bucky. Sweep away.

I couldn’t regret going out to get more eggs but if it was going to disturb Bucky this much every time we left (or I left) the house things could get interesting.

When Bucky got back I’d settled into the couch in the living room with a movie all ready to play. I wasn’t sure if he’d be up for it, but I wanted to try and recapture even the smallest portion of fun and relaxation we’d felt this morning. 

Which is why Tangled was waiting in the dvd player.

Bucky popped his head into the living room, obviously in search of me.

‘Movie?’ I asked.

He tilted his head thoughtfully then held up a finger. One minute.

I heard him scavenging around in the kitchen and when he returned he held two glasses of milk, a plate of cookies, as well as the rest of the cheese biscuits that hadn’t been eaten yesterday. He sat down next to me on the couch and I pressed play.

By the time the movie ended all the food was gone, all the milk had been drunk, and Bucky was sprawled and relaxed on his end of the couch.

He turned to me with an easy grin. ‘I _like_ him.’

‘Flynn?’

‘Eugene.’ His correction was decisive and slightly aghast that I would call him anything else.

‘Right, right.’ Who am I to correct what someone wants to call themselves? ‘So I’m guessing you liked the whole movie then.’

Bucky scrunched up his face. What. His lip pouted a little to the side in a far too attractive frown. ‘Well…’ His eyes cut sideways toward me and they glowed with mischief.

‘You faker!’ I shouted. I instinctively wanted to throw a pillow at him or smack him lightly on the shoulder but past experience has shown that to be a bad plan. So I just glared at him and stuck out my tongue.

Bucky laughed. It was his from-the-gut laugh, the one where his eyes rolled sideways as if he couldn’t bear to keep looking at me or he’d die of laughing. I expressively rolled my eyes at him and snorted a little to myself.

‘Fine. You liked it. See if I ever show you nice things again.’

That got a reaction. Bucky was suddenly upright and in my space, looking like a shocked puppy. ‘Lily! Please, please, I’ll be sooooo good—‘

I took a risk and pushed his shoulders gently. He went with the motion and flopped backwards dramatically, but he was unable to keep a smirk off his face. ‘Who will show me movies now? I’ll be so lost without you, Lily.’ His smirk died and my smile slipped a little too. That last sentence was a little too honest for our fooling around.

‘I’m thinking pizza for dinner,’ I wanted to change the subject.

‘I think I remember pizza.’ Bucky said seriously.

‘In a good way?’

‘Is there any other way to think of pizza?’ 

‘Excellent point.’ I smiled and got off of the couch. ‘I’ll just start the dough so we can let that rise while we watch another movie.’

Bucky nodded and followed me. ‘What movie?’

‘I’ve got another really good cartoon, or we can try something different.’

Bucky cocked his head to wordlessly ask ‘how different?’

‘Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. Adventure, action, lots of dead Nazis—‘ oops, maybe that was pushing ahead a bit too fast. We hadn’t talked about his past much, and it seemed there was a sinkhole under every step. Maybe I shouldn’t have—

‘Perfect,’ Bucky said. ‘My favorite kind of Nazi.’

Oh. ‘Good. I think you’ll like it. It’s really fun.’

‘They weren’t much fun the first time around.’

‘No, no they really weren’t,’ I said seriously. Jewish family. None of us were in the Holocaust, but that sort of thing doesn’t fade from your memory any time soon. ‘It’s a funny thing,’ I added. ‘Nowadays, they’re the perfect movie villain. Everyone can pretty much agree on hating the Nazis, so it doesn’t matter if a hero kills them by the score.’ I took all the ingredients for the dough out of the cupboards and set them up next to the mixer. Add the hot water, yeast, and a little bit of sugar first, then let sit….

I turned around to find Bucky staring at me curiously. It took me a second to realize that I was humming one of the best tunes from Tangled: I’ve got a dream. I shrugged helplessly and hummed louder. A corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched. I smiled, then stopped humming to ask, ‘What kind of toppings do you like on your pizza?’

Bucky shifted uneasily. Oh bother. He’d said he’d remembered pizza, but that didn’t mean he remembered his favorite type—why do you keep sticking your foot right in it, Lily?

‘I mean, we’ve got some onions, probably some pepperoni in the freezer—that stuff never goes bad—maybe a pepper or something in the fridge…’ I trailed off. Hopefully my piling options on him would make the situation better and not worse.

And how often does that happen, Lily?

Shut up.

Bucky licked his lips nervously before asking, ‘What are you having?’

‘I like just plain cheese, but we can do half the pizza one way and half another, if you want more than that.’ I mean, you eat enough for three people, so putting more meat and veggies on your part is probably a good idea.

‘Pepperoni.’ Bucky said a little distantly, as if trying to understand a faint memory. 

‘Okay. Pepperoni it is!’

The yeast water was all frothy now so I added in the rest of the ingredients and let the mixer beat the dough for a while. After, I turned the dough out onto a baking sheet and put it in the oven to rise a little. We had plenty of time: it was just four now, so with an hour to rise and an hour to assemble the pizza and cook it, we’d be ready for six. Perfect.

‘Time for you to meet Indiana Jones,’ I said happily. ‘I grew up watching these movies. They’re awesome.’

‘There’s more than one?’ Bucky asked as he resettled himself on the couch as I changed dvds.

‘Three—well, four I guess, if you count that one which you shouldn’t because it was awful and no one liked it anyway.’ I glanced up to see how Bucky was taking the flood of what must be completely strange information. Very seriously, as it turned out. You’d almost think he was going to be tested on this information later. Well, not in this house, Bucky. No need to earn any geek cred here. I’m just happy you’re talking and laughing. At the moment.

The dvd menu started playing the incredibly catchy John Williams score. I pressed play quickly though, as I didn’t want any of the scenes to get spoiled.

The movie has a bit of a slow start but that didn’t seem to bother Bucky. His face wore a look of intense concentration, actually, as if he were studying Indiana Jones’ fighting moves.

Which he kinda was, actually.

‘I don’t own a whip,’ Bucky said after a while.

Oh. Um. Right. In all your great and mighty arsenal you don’t have a bullwhip. Major oversight there, Bucky.

‘Do you want one?’ I asked, a little incredulous.

‘How else am I supposed to get over a bottomless pit, Lily?’

Probably by jumping. I’ve seen you do your fighting forms in the backyard. 

‘You definitely need a bullwhip then.’ We shared a smirk. It was fun encouraging someone in their desire to own something almost useless. I hadn’t been able to do that in a while.

About halfway through the movie I got up to roll out the dough and finish making the pizza. Bucky reached a hand toward the remote but I shook my head and motioned for him to keep watching. Making up the pizza didn’t take too long and soon I was back in time to see Indiana and Marian get buried alive in the snake infested tomb. 

‘Those snakes aren’t poisonous,’ Bucky said offhandedly with the voice of experience. Eep.

‘Well, I guess they didn’t really want to kill their actors, you know.’ 

Bucky nodded.

The movie concluded around the same time that the pizza was done, so how about that for planning?

‘How’d you like it?’ I asked Bucky while cutting the pizza.

‘Lots of dead Nazis.’ He said consideringly. ‘I think…I think I saw things like that…before.’

‘Makes sense. They made it in the 80’s but they wanted to make it feel like some of the action adventure movies made in the 30’s and 40’s.

‘Is that why you chose it?’

‘Partly,’ I said in the interest of full disclosure. ‘And I didn’t think it had anything that would remind you…of things you don’t want to remember.’ I danced very quickly around that topic, see my fast and fluttering feet…

I plated up pizza for the both of us and handed one to Bucky. ‘Do you want to eat at the table, or watch another movie in the living room?’

Bucky’s eyes darted toward the living room.

‘All right, movie it is. Another Indiana Jones?’ Bucky nodded. ‘Okay. But…we might want to skip the second one.’ At his intent look I went on. ‘Mind control.’ His face blanked out. Not quite to scary blankness, but not far away. I quickly went on. ‘And no Nazis. Third one kills lots of Nazis again.’

Bucky’s eyes flickered and his jaw clenched. ‘Okay.’ His voice was a little hoarse and I tried not to sigh too deeply from relief. Whew. How many times can you dodge that bullet, Lily? 

Bucky was a little more subdued as we started the Last Crusade, but as soon as he started to eat his pizza he relaxed and seemed pleased. No sugar smile, but I think pizza is on his approved list. 

Both of us had second helpings but near the end of the movie I started to feel sleepy. Today had been a strange mix of highs and lows and the emotional roller coaster had caught up with me. I put my plate on the floor and nestled into the couch. Indiana Jones was trying desperately to get his way past the traps so he could save his father.

Good. Save your father. You do that. That’s good.

The rest of the movie faded out as I dozed off.

I half woke up to the sensation of being lifted into Bucky’s arms and carried gently upstairs. Since I was only half awake I couldn’t bring myself to apologize for not walking up the stairs myself, and instead I sighed and snuggled closer. Normally my sensible self would tell me that I probably shouldn’t snuggle someone when we hadn’t established formal boundaries—but then, I was half asleep, and the asleep portion of me was the sensible one.

Snuggling is nice.

Bucky gently placed me on my bed but when I shifted to the other side so he could join me, he didn’t seem to get the message. He just stood next to the bed, fists clenched, body tense.

‘Lily—‘ his voice grated with his layers of gravel. ‘Can I stay? Here? I can sleep on the floor, you don’t have to—‘

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I said undiplomatically as I patted the bed. ‘C’mon. Space. For you.’

Bucky inhaled deeply before lowering himself onto the bed. ‘Thank you. I can actually sleep when I hear you breathing next to me.’ His confession reminded me of his one two days ago when he said that he could tell if I was sleeping because the house sounded different. Again, it should sound weird. Stalker-ish. Twilight-ish.

Nah. Just Bucky-ish.

And how could I complain about him feeling better sleeping next to me when I felt the same exact way?

‘Do you like being the big spoon or the little spoon?’ Not only was my normal filter off—it was WAY off.

‘I don’t know what that means.’ Bucky said quietly. Nooo I made him sad. Snuggles will cure that. They can cure anything.

I turned onto my side with my back to him and said, ‘Right now I’m the little spoon. If you slept on your side behind me, you’d be the big spoon.’ There was a pause then Bucky inched closer to me. Not close enough to be touching, but enough so I could feel his body heat. I wanted to lean back into it but even my addled half asleep brain knew that was a bad idea. ‘You c’n even put y’r arm around me,’ I slurred, hoping he’d take the hint. 

Wonder of wonders, he did, scooting close enough so that it wasn’t awkward.

‘Mm, nice,’ I mumbled and finally allowed myself to lean back against him. It was nice.

I was almost asleep when Bucky said, ‘Lily?’

‘Mm?’

‘I like being the big spoon.’

‘Mmm.’


	19. Chapter 19

It was early Wednesday morning when I woke to Bucky disentangling my limbs from his and slipping out of bed. When I made sleepy confusion noises—Bucky?—he tucked me back into the blankets and said quietly, ‘Just checking the house.’

Just checking the house? You should check the bed. Bed is nicer. Mmm bed.

I dozed lightly until Bucky returned, easing his cooled body back under the covers. I squirmed closer, happy to share my heat until he regained his. ‘Everything okay?’ I murmured. 

‘Fine.’

‘Kay.’ It didn’t occur to me that maybe Bucky was feeling anxious about something enough to get out of bed and do a sweep outside. All that occurred to me was that Bucky had gone away but then he’d come back and maybe we could just go back to sleep.

Which we did, or at least, I did and Bucky didn’t go anywhere for a long while—just stayed wrapped up around me like the best heated blanket or teddy bear you could ask for.

And if his grip was a little tighter than normal I barely noticed because I was too busy feeling happy and sleepy and safe.

I know it was some hours later when I fully woke up because the light was brighter and my body felt happily rested in a way it hadn’t in months. Maybe years. Three nights in a row of amazingly relaxed sleep? Unheard of! Absurd!

I smiled idiotically and gave Bucky a good morning hug. He very carefully ran a hand down my hair. Oh. That’s just…so sweet. I melted a little.

‘Good morning.’ I said.

‘Good morning.’

I checked my watch. ‘It’s only eight? I thought it was a lot later. I feel really rested.’ I made half-hearted stretching motions next to Bucky. If they were any bigger I’d have to move further away and that was a nooooo…

‘You fell asleep early.’

‘Mm, right. Don’t know why. Thanks, by the way. For carrying me upstairs.’ I could feel Bucky make a slight shrugging motion but he didn’t say anything. ‘I mean, that’s the second time you’ve done that and I think it’s only the third time something like that’s happened to me in my entire life.’

‘Who?’ Bucky asked laconically.

‘My friend Charlie, the one who came over and drove me to the reunion? He’s married to Laura my best friend. He did it mostly as a joke when I stayed over at their place late one night. It was kind of nice, though.’

Bucky made a very quiet hmm noise, more of a throat hum of acknowledgment. ‘So you like being carried around?’ His voice was serious but I knew a joke when I heard it.

‘Of course. I am a Queen, you know, and I deserve to be carried around on a pile of gold silk cushions wherever I go. Actually walking around is so…so pedestrian.’

Bucky snorted. Oh, so you like bad word plays Bucky? That’s nice to know. ‘Do Queens eat breakfast?’

‘Of course, but only if you peel my grapes for me first.’ I chuckled.

‘Peeled grapes, coming right up.’

‘Yah, right. And how do you peel a grape, anyway? They’re so small and slippery, I feel like half the juice would get crushed out while you were handling it.’

‘Not if your knife was sharp enough.’ Was Bucky’s completely serious contribution to my entirely ridiculous musing.

‘Oh. I was thinking of doing it with my fingers.’

‘You don’t peel potatoes with your fingers.’ Bucky was wearily sure of this—I can only guess at the amount of memories he had of peeling potatoes.

‘Yeah but grapes are softer than potatoes. You could peel them with your fingers.’

‘Sharp knives are much better.’ Bucky argued.

‘Fine. As your Queen I assign you all grape peeling duties.’ Ha.

‘Yes ma’am.’ Ooh, is that how it is Bucky? You’ll one-up me with politeness? 

‘Good. And it’s your Royal Highness.’

‘Royal pain in my arse.’

‘Hey!’ I mock shoved him. In less than a heartbeat he had rolled on top of me and before I could regret hitting the supersoldier assassin he’d picked me up and slung me over his right shoulder as he got off the bed and strode downstairs.

‘Hey!’ I said again after catching my breath—we were already halfway down the stairs, the man was fit and fast—‘Put me down!’

‘But I thought you liked being carried around? Your Royal Arseness.’ He plopped me down on one of the kitchen chairs. ‘Stay.’

Stay? I crossed my arms and stuck my tongue out at his retreating back. Fine. See if I help you with breakfast. Stay. Bah.

Bucky filled a glass with water and put it in front of me. His eyes crinkled a little at the edges when he saw how I was glaring at him but his mouth didn’t smile. It didn’t need to, I could tell anyway. I glared harder. Unaffected, Bucky turned away again, only instead of heading toward the fridge, he made a stop at my ipod and speakers and turned on my Billie Holliday playlist. With a slight sway to his steps he then started making us breakfast.

I gave up fake glaring after a while and sat back to sip my water and enjoy the music and the sight of Bucky in my kitchen. The sun was shining golden through the living room windows and letting plenty of light into the rest of the house. Bucky shuffled his feet slightly to the beat of the music as he flipped pancakes and stirred scrambled eggs. The kettle whistled after a while and Bucky poured himself a cup of coffee. All the food seemed to get done around the same time and Bucky plated it all up and brought it over to the table. I smiled in thanks and Bucky nodded in reply. We ate.

Can you bottle perfection? Because if you could it would feel an awful lot like this.

I finished eating and pushed my plate back. I scratched my head and grimaced at the feeling of my greasy hair. Shower time. ‘So, I don’t know what you’re feeling up for this morning,’ I said to Bucky, ‘But I’ve got to take a shower at the very least, and then…’ I trailed off and shrugged. I’m sure he got the gist. It’s not like I’m a supremely busy person. At all.

Bucky nodded, but he didn’t say anything, being too busy eating. I swear, the man eats three times as much as me at every meal, it’s uncanny. I took advantage of his preoccupation to get up and start washing the dishes. He glared at me a little but kept shoveling food into his mouth so I guess he wasn’t that mad I’d disobeyed his ‘stay.’ 

Stay. Seriously, Bucky? Hmph. He eventually joined the dishwashing assembly line in his usual dish-drying position, but it was only breakfast so there wasn’t that much to clean. 

‘I’m going to go have that shower now,’ I said. I really should have had one yesterday—I felt disgusting.

‘I’ll…be outside. For a while.’ Bucky said slowly, his gaze off in the distance. 

Okay. Outside is good. I nodded at him then went upstairs to take care of some pretty important bodily hygiene. I was almost in the shower when I heard some strangely familiar noises coming from the back of the house—I peeked out the window and saw Bucky going through his fighting forms. I winced internally at the memory of how hard he’d pushed himself last time, and hoped this was more ‘muscle maintenance’ and less ‘physical punishment.’ Oh well, nothing I could say or do about it. Grr.

The shower felt pretty good, as did being clean afterwards. The noises outside continued but I didn’t look again. It would probably just make me sad or inappropriately appreciative of Bucky’s muscles and the way he moved when he was fighting. Seriously inappropriately appreciative.

I hurriedly threw on some clean clothes and stood dumbly in the middle of my bedroom for a minute, completely lost as to what to do next. Snap out of it Lily, you can choose an activity that Bucky isn’t involved in, it’s okay. Really.

I seriously need to work on my coping skills.

I pulled my computer out and started catching up on some of my favorite web comics and various interesting sites. I lost track of time for a little bit until I heard a shuffle of feet on carpet as Bucky stood outside my door. He looked sweaty and tired, mentally tired, and as much as I believe in the healing power of hugs I knew this was one thing a hug couldn’t help. Which of course made me angry because if a hug can’t help then the problem shouldn’t exist in the first place. Stupid problems, can’t be fixed by hugs.

I settled for saying, ‘You okay?’

Bucky nodded. Sort of. More like a vague head gesture that might have been a nod. Or a shrug. Or a shake. Bother.

‘Shower. I mean—‘ he ran a hand through his messy sweaty hair. ‘I need a shower,’ he said carefully, as if trying to catch the words before they ran away from him. Oh Bucky. ‘Can I borrow your shampoo?’

‘Oh! Yeah, of course! It’s just in the bathroom, on the ledge. Right, you don’t have one downstairs, I really should have remembered that. Okay, next time I go shopping I’ll have to get some.’ Bucky didn’t really change expression during my flood of words, but I got the impression that he was just feeling too worn to react. Stop torturing the poor man, Lily, and let him go take a shower. ‘Have fun.’ I cringed internally at the stupid inanity of that statement. He was going to take a shower, not go to a party. Goodness gracious Lily.

Fortunately Bucky didn’t seem to care about my verbal gaffe. He just walked quietly away, got my shampoo out of the bathroom, then headed back down to the basement.

I briefly entertained the thought of smacking myself in the head but experience from other similar moments told me that it wouldn’t even hurt that badly (because I never hit myself all that hard) and would solve nothing. Sigh.

I decided that the best thing to do would be to not bother Bucky unless he made it clear that he wanted to interact with me. The last two days had been pretty idyllic, on the whole, and I wouldn’t blame him for needing a little space.

I was feeling the need for a little comfort food for the soul, so I put on The Tales of The Kingdom. They’re an old audiobook I grew up listening to and they always make me feel better. They’re a series of connected short stories all about this Evil Enchanter who holds the Enchanted City captive under his evil rule, and about the True King who lives in the place where trees grow. The stories are magical and heart warming, and the man who does the reading is iconic and so much fun to listen to.

I’d listened my way through The Enchanted City and The Orphan Keeper’s Assistant, and was just about to start The Apprentice Juggler when I heard Bucky’s tread on the stairs. He didn’t come immediately to my room, first stopping in the bathroom where I assume he returned my shampoo. I wondered if he would even come to my room at all, or if he would prefer to just stay away, but he didn’t. 

He looked a little puzzled and he cocked his head at the sound issuing out of my computer. ‘Is this a movie?’

‘No, it’s an audiobook. Umm, someone’s reading a book out loud. Although this is also a bit more like an old radio program.’ I pressed pause as Bucky came further into the room.

‘Don’t stop—I mean, is it okay if I listen?’ He said.

‘Of course. I mean, we’re on the third story—I could go back to the first one if you want.’ Bucky shook his head. ‘Okay. Um, overview time. There’s an evil enchanter who’s taken over the city. A bunch of people who follow the true King live in the forest outside—they call it Great Park. And, um, I think that’ll be enough for now.’ I restarted the track—it had only been playing ten seconds or so—and Bucky settled onto the floor next to the bed to listen. I wanted to tell him he could share the bed, but then, he knew that, so…right. Don’t be overbearing. The man can sit on the floor if he wants to.

The story of the Apprentice Juggler captivated Bucky and it soon turned into The Faithless Ranger, and then The Girl Named Dirty—both stories that I almost turned off because they seemed to upset Bucky, but every time I tried to check in with him he shook his head and listened even more intently. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. I mean, even me who didn’t know anywhere near his entire story could see the parallels between what had happened to him and these stories. I mean, that’s kind of why I like them so much. They might be called ‘fantasy’ stories, but they’re chock full of so much reality and hope they’re rather addictive. There’s betrayal and war and feeling like you’re not good enough and never will be good enough—but there’s also kindness, redemption, loyalty and so much love that you actually start to believe in it.

They’re really kind of wonderful.

I decided to stop after The Girl Named Dirty because it was lunchtime and Bucky was looking a little antsy. Out of habit I shut my computer and put it on the floor between the bed and the wall. Bucky looked at me. 

‘Lunch?’ I asked. His eyes turned inward as if to assess current hunger levels. After a second he gave a tentative nod. ‘Okay.’

We trooped downstairs to fill our stomachs with homemade mac and cheese of which I am the master. Bucky was still a bit on edge throughout lunch and I wasn’t surprised at all when he slipped out to go on a sweep. It was a tad surprising he didn’t wait to finish his mac and cheese (I’d almost be worried that he didn’t like it, but he’d held the bowl pretty tightly after he’d tasted it), but I guess security took priority over hunger. 

Wow, I do not like the sound of that.

I was just finishing up my bowl when I heard a slight scuff from outside. Prepared to greet Bucky with a smile, I turned as the front door opened and presented a perfect target for the scary men in dark clothing who most certainly weren’t Bucky to shoot me with some sort of dart.

I clutched at my throat, the pain of the dart imbedding there swiftly overwhelmed by an overpowering nausea that almost made me puke before a cold numbness spread through my terrified body and toppled me over into the black.


	20. Interlude I

My last memories before blacking out are of Hydra agents ambushing me in the woods. I remember thinking that at least they were attacking out here and that Lily was probably safe—but Hydra doesn’t work like that. If Hydra was here in the woods, they were also in the house—

_LILY._

And then I blacked out.

Lily once told me that we all have good parts and bad parts to ourselves, and that sometimes it helps to think about ourselves as two different people. Most of the time now, I’m me. I’m Bucky—or at least, I’m as much of him as I remember. But sometimes…

Sometimes I turn back into _him._ The Soldier. The Asset. And there’s only one thing he’s good at.

When I come back to myself I’m standing in the house, surrounded by broken glass and bloody footprints—no Lily in sight. My instincts tell me she’s long gone. A scream builds in my chest and I want to let it loose, shoot something, do a perimeter check— _anything_ —but none of it matters. She’s gone.

_Lily._

They had her. _They had her._

I black out again, shorter this time. Maybe only five minutes. I come to standing in the attic. I’d been up here once or twice before. It’s mostly old clothes, old pots, old furniture and a whole lot of camping equipment. It had been moved since the last time I’d been up here—what was Hydra looking for up here? I match my boot to the prints left in the dust. Guess that explains some of what I was doing in my blackout.

I’ve had to get good at piecing through _his_ actions when I’m left holding the bag after he goes away. Guess we’re going camping.

I pick through the gear, loading up as much as I can carry, and I can carry a lot now. Gear’s not heavy, just bulky.

I deposit my load downstairs next to the other pile of camping gear. A map is laid out on the center island—the only clear spot in the house. Hell, Hydra had really messed up this one. Bullet holes, shattered glass, dents in the wall…

Damn. That looks more like my work. _A fist through drywall, dust and plaster raining down on Lily as she lay there gasping for air after—_

I’m upstairs again, the rest of the camping gear in my arms. I drag the oversized cooler along with me. We’ll need food.

I hadn’t told Lily about my blackouts. Damn me if she needed something else to worry about. I might be a wreck but I’m trying not to be an asshole.

_‘How’s that working out for you, Pal?’_

I try not to flinch, but that voice. My voice. Or it was.

I get a better look at the map this time when I’m downstairs— _don’t look at the damage, don’t look at what you did, it didn’t help her, they took her_ —It’s your typical middle of nowhere map, great place to hide from everyone, smack dab middle of a national park. I’d—he’d—circled a promontory with a sheer cliff face. Hard to climb. No need to worry about visitors.

Great stuff Asset, but I’m more worried about Lily—

_Lily_

‘Bucky.’ I turn around, gun in one hand, knife in another, but there’s nothing. Just my mind cracking. Nothing new. Static in the system. Need a reboot—

NO.

Shattered glass at my feet. There goes another window.

It’s clear the Asset had a plan, would have been nice if he’d shared it with me, I need something more than a map, a pile of camping gear, weapons—

Not my weapons. Hydra’s?

I take a walk outside. There were bloodstains inside, but no bodies. There’s an extra car in the drive, but it’s shot to hell and back. I work around the side of the house and would you look at that? A bunch of Hydra agents strung up like stockings on Christmas morning. Guess you’re not so terrible after all, Asset, leaving me a gift like this. A couple were dead already, small loss, but two of them still clung to life. Ha. Clung. More like hung.

I’ve fought for every scrap of ground that I’ve retaken from the Asset and like Hell if I’ll give any back to him, but it’s easy—too easy—to _pretend_ to be him again. Blank my face, let my weight fall from my shoulders, look like I’m about to kill someone—that part’s easy.

_Lily_

Focus dammit. Crack up later.

I give one of the live agents a heavy prod. He swings back and forth, dangling painfully from his wrists. His gear’s soaked with blood—his own—but he still has a spine. He musters up enough saliva to spit at me.

He misses. I don’t.

My fist connects with his lower ribs, ooh, I think I cracked something. He shakes in pain. I hear a whimper, but it doesn’t come from him. I wander casually down the line of dead strung up agents until I find my noisemaker. 

_Perfect._

Noisemaker’s not that injured, but I’m sure he feels like he is. And would you look at that? I don’t even have to touch him and he’s ready to talk.

‘Oh God, no. Please—I won’t—just let me—‘

My fist drives all the air out of his lungs and leaves him a wheezing mess, but I make sure not to damage him too badly. Not yet.

I get in close, holding his jaw in my metal hand, staring straight into his eyes. Huh. He doesn’t like that much, if the trickle of piss down his leg means anything. No guts, this one. Lily could look straight into the heart of me—

Focus, dammit!

I drop my voice low. ‘There’s two of you still alive. I only need one.’

Noisemaker whimpers and tries to speak but his mouth just flops and gibbers. I back up a few steps to get Troublemaker into view. He doesn’t look so hot, but he’s recovered enough to swear at me.

So I shoot him.

Noisemaker just about passes out in shock. What? The man was only five feet away. Hell, I could have made that shot with my eyes _shut_ , let alone just looking straight at Noisemaker.

It sure does prime the pump. He’s ready to sing like a canary.

_Good._

‘Hey, hey pal,’ I get in close to him again. He doesn’t know whether to shit or go blind. ‘Now there’s only one of you. You’re the only one who can tell me what I want to know.’

I slam my fist into his side.

‘And I won’t stop—‘

I hit his right thigh _almost_ hard enough to break the bone.

‘Not until I know—‘

Jab to the shoulder—it pops out of the socket. Ah, hell. Noisemaker screams.

‘What you know.’

Uppercut to the jaw. It shuts him up for a minute, thank Christ. Before he can get too noisy again I clamp my metal hand around his mouth and _squeeze._

‘Where. Did. They. Take. Her.’

Noisemaker lives up to his name. He can’t even die quiet. But I’ve got intel now, real leads on where to go and what to do when I get there.

_Hang on, Lily_

I debate just leaving the line of dead agents to swing by the side of the house, but that would be a Hell of a welcome back banner for Lily. I don’t have a lot of time, but I can multi-task; carry the dead agents into the woods while thinking out a plan of attack. 

Dead agents are heavier than camping gear but I can do four in a trip. I don’t bother checking the bodies. The Asset already took care of that.

I’m on my last return trip to the house when I hear a car coming up the drive.

_Hell._

Engine doesn’t sound beefed up enough to be Hydra, but who else would be driving down that road? I double time it to the edge of the trees surrounding the house, managing to make it to a good vantage point twenty feet up on a sturdy branch before the car pulls in front of the house. There’s only one man in it, his silhouette familiar…

Too much of Hydra feels familiar. I don’t have my rifle on me, but even at this range I can’t miss with this pistol. I breathe deep and wait for him to get out of the car. He seems frozen in shock but he pushes the door open, stumbling out and wheezing, ‘Lily?’

_Lily._

I’m down on the ground before I realize it. The dull thud of my landing carries to his ears and he turns to face me.

‘Charlie.’ His name is Charlie.

‘Who the hell are you,’ he squeezes out of a tight throat. He instinctively backs up a step but before he does it again he sets his shoulders and plants his feet—not like he’s going to attack, more like he’s trying to be brave. Stupid of him—but brave. I know what I look like.

I don’t know how to answer his question so I ignore it. That part doesn’t matter anyway. 

‘They took her.’ I say instead. Charlie looks confused, then he pales and his eyes dart over the bullet-striped car. 

‘Lily? Where is she?’ He actually takes a step toward me. Stupid, but brave. You’ve got guts, pal, I’ll give you that much.

‘They have her,’ I repeat. ‘I’ll get her back.’

‘Who is they?’ He nearly shouts at me.

‘Hydra.

‘Hydra? How the hell—‘ his throat constricts and he has to take a second to just breathe. A long forgotten impulse makes me want to put my hand on his back and tell him to breathe, just breathe, that’s it, just breathe—but before I take a step toward him he recovers. ‘Why would they take her?’ His tone holds thinly veiled accusations. Full points, buddy. Top of the class.

_Lily._

‘Bucky.’ I manage not to jump this time. Charlie’s hardly filled with confidence in me—no need for him to see the full freak show. I know I should say something—hell, anything—but it all sticks in my chest and I can’t think of the words to say. It got easier for a while, with Lily. But she’s gone—

_Gone_

–and all my words with her.

Charlie’s staring at my arm, the metal one. Lily had stared too, but she never looked like she recognized it. Damn all of this.

I glare at Charlie. Dust-covered defiant words choke my throat until I let them out. ‘You gonna make something of it?’ He swallows hard and seems to rein himself in a little. Knowing who I am always seems to make people more afraid of me.

Except—

_‘Damn it Barnes, we don’t have time for your shit-headed, lousy—‘_

A foul mouthed echo of a long ago drill seargent floats through the back of mind and calms me down like a lullaby. I take a deep breath and try to answer Charlie’s question.

‘They know I’ll go after her.’ I don’t know if those were the right words to say, but they seem to upset him and reassure him at the same time. I’ll take it. All I need is for some do-good best friend calling the cops trying to ‘help.’ Not that I couldn’t work around them with both hands tied behind my back—just look at what I’d done with that scum Peter. A car accident was too good for that rapist dick…

A question of my own occurs to me. ‘Why are you here?’ I doesn’t make any sense why he’d shown up out of nowhere.

Charlie shakes his head like he’s trying to shake his thoughts loose. Same, Buddy. ‘Laura and I got worried when she didn’t come over, and she wasn’t picking up her cell—so I came over to see if everything was all right…’ He laughs painfully with a raw edge of cracked sanity riding under it.

Lily didn’t come over…? Oh shit, hell, and cram it up my backside—it’s _Thursday_. I hadn’t lost a couple hours to the Asset—I’d lost a whole goddamn _day_. What the hell had he been doing for a whole 24 hours? Staring at the Hydra agents? Cleaning his weapons? Polishing that fucking metal arm?!

I must have looked extra murderous because Charlie’s heart started pumping like he’d been out dancing all night long; the pulse in his neck jumping double time.

_24 damned hours_

I had to get out of here, I had to get Lily back. The things they could do to her in 24 hours— _the needles and the tests and the screaming so much screaming it’s all my screaming—_

My gun is pointing at Charlie’s head as he slowly raises his hands and carefully steps back from where he came within three feet of me.

_Hell._

My own pulse is racing and I have to slow my breathing. I drop the gun to my side and give a slight head-tilt of apology to Charlie who takes it like a champ. Brave, loyal—and oh so stupid. His blond hair makes me want to punch him right in his stupid loyal face.

‘I’ll get her back,’ I say to him instead. No time to waste now. Get lost, Charlie. I’ve got things to do and a whole lot of people to kill. I turn away and head back to the house. Lily’s car is small, but it’ll work better than the car with a thousand bullet holes. If things go the way I expect they will I’ll need the hideout set up before I rescue Lily. Every campaign needs a fallback position, and—

There’s a crunch of a footstep behind me so I turn around and aim my best glare at Charlie. Go. Away. He falters, but he doesn’t leave.

‘Can I help?’

Help. Help? Yeah, by getting out of here. The only reason Hydra hasn’t come back is because they’re waiting for me to come to them—but that doesn’t mean it’s safe here.

I step forward, going for full on menace—‘Don’t come in the house. Booby traps.’ The Asset would have taken care of those, if there had been any—but there could be a listening device or two around somewhere in the mess and I’d be up for the title of King Asshole if I let Lily’s friend get mixed up with Hydra.

I load up camping gear to bring to the car but when I turn Charlie’s still standing outside the doorframe. What the hell is it going to take to scare this guy off? I shoulder past him, deliberately letting my weight and the weight of the gear shove him back a couple feet.

‘The house is a mess—what happened?’ 

Jesus Christ, he followed me to the car.

‘Hydra.’ I shove the gear in the trunk. ‘Me.’ I go back for another load. Charlie keeps following me back and forth like a resentful duckling. I try to think ahead, figure out what I’ll need, what Lily’ll need—

_Lily smiles as she looks over her bookshelves eyes wide with happiness as she hands one to me—_

_Lily patting her laptop gently before she slides it down the side of her bed—_

I stiff arm Charlie before I go back into the house. ‘Stay. Here.’ I tramp up the stairs to her room, unsurprised at the mess of broken bookcases and scattered books, but deeply burningly angry all the same. Lily loves these books, loves them like they’re part of her, and Hydra had treated them like garbage, like they were worthless, like—

_Like me._

I brace myself against the wall and gasp for breath. I can’t afford to lose any more time, _Lily_ can’t afford any more time lost to my _weakness—_

The room steadies around me and I feel less like I’m about to crack open. The room’s a mess. That’s what Hydra does.

I grab a backpack out of her closet— _Jesus Christ, they even turned the closets inside out, looking for what?_ —and start loading up clothes, books, the stuffed animal she always sleeps with, pretty much whatever comes to hand first that I know she’ll want. Hydra was clearly looking for something here, but when I check behind the bed I’m surprised to see they didn’t find her laptop. Sloppy. They took the one downstairs in the living room, must have thought that was the only one.

Back downstairs Charlie’s still waiting impatiently by the door. I shove the laptop at him. He blinks in recognition as his hands tighten around it. He looks at me in surprise. I know, pal. I’m a wreck, but I’m trying not to be an asshole.

‘Keep it safe. She’ll want it when she comes back.’

Finally, _finally_ , I see a little trust enter his eyes. I go back into the house and start shoving food into the cooler. Two weeks worth ought to do it. 

Before I leave I take one last look around the house. Walls are buckled, windows shattered—I wouldn’t even give it a week before some animal moves inside.

Like me. I’d been the animal that took advantage of a cracked open window to come inside and make a mess of things pretending I belonged here. I hadn’t deserved to feel at home here, but Lily had welcomed me anyway, made me feel like a person and not an animal—

I’d almost feel bad that what happened next would prove her so very wrong, but animals don’t feel bad. They just bite.

I throw the last of what I need into Lily’s car. Time to go. I give Charlie one last warning before I go—‘The house isn’t safe. I’ll bring her back, I promise.’ He nodded, but I could see that he was still having trouble believing me. Good. Lily had been too eager to believe my promises, too happy to believe the best of me even after I’d proved her wrong. I’d keep this promise, though, keep it no matter what.

_Lily._

I start the car and drive off. I’m coming Lily.

I’m coming


	21. Chapter 21

Waking up strapped to a table with an IV in my arm after getting tranked by Hydra goons has got to be one of the worst experiences of my life.

I mean, all of my family just died, so that’s probably worse. Maybe. 

Actually getting shot by said Hydra goons is really really bad, since that’s how I ended up strapped to this table in the first place—but I think the table trumps the shooting by a fair margin. It’s the creep factor.

But I was having a hard time deciding whether or not being strapped to a table with an IV in my arm was worse than that day in 9th grade when I burst into tears in front of the whole class because no one wanted to do a group project with me, when a door opened nearby and rendered all my panicked musings irrelevant. 

The room I was in was fairly innocuous, in that ‘might be secretly terrifying based on context’ sort of way. Insomuch as a mostly empty room in a Hydra lair can be innocuous. There weren’t any obvious torture items, no rack, no iron maiden, no terrifyingly tiny yet sharp shiny knives—just me strapped to that table and my IV drip. Which is kind of the modern equivalent of all previous forms of torture: there could be anything in that bag. Anything at all.

I’m not given time to think about it, though, as the footsteps behind me slowly made their way around to my side. I didn’t even pretend to not look desperately in that direction. There’s not much to be gained by pretending I’m not really upset by this situation. 

An older man walked into my view. It’s hard to tell from my angle, but I’d put him at about medium height, with a steady facial state that hovered somewhere between remote and keenly obsessed with his work. Me.

I shuddered. It did not go unnoticed.

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’

What, you’re not going to use my name and try to freak me out? Not going to try and build a creepy Stockholm syndrome rapport with me? Wow, the quality of torturer in this dungeon is sadly lacking.

I’d barely had the time to decide that answering any of his questions was a bad idea when his hand clenched around something briefly and a painful electric current slammed through my body with all the subtlety of lightning. The only good thing I could say about it was that it didn’t last long.

I gasped for air, even though it hadn’t been that long since my last breath. The electricity had tightened all my muscles and driven the air out of my lungs. I coughed in shock. Well then. Moving right onto the torture, are we?

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’ The scariest part of all this (aside from being strapped into a torture chair that would have done Darth Vader proud and made Han Solo wince in solidarity) was that when he repeated his words, he did so with the same exact tone as before, not one inflection off. To me, this spelled out self-control up the wazoo, as well as a certain level of practice at his job that did not bode well for me.

I’d been silent too long. He pressed the remote in his hand again and my body jerked out of my control, a shuddering moan forced out of me that I wished I could have taken back.

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’ Again. Third verse, same as the first. I wish I could say that I came up with a thrilling and scathing reply but the situation and the pain had me so off balance all I could do was shake my head minutely and tug weakly at my bonds. I knew I wasn’t getting out of them, but it felt better to do that than nothing.

There was only one answer to my silence, of course, only this time the electricity lasted for far longer. Tears were coming out of my eyes when it ended and I snuffled as much air into my lungs as possible, preparing for the next hit.

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’ It was the fourth time he said it, and it was still the exact same way as the first time he said it. It was a pretty harmless question, all told. How much would it matter if I told them he’d been there because he was hungry? How much would it matter if they knew he’d been living in my basement? How much—

I screamed as electricity gnawed on me from the inside out. If I’d had the energy or been capable of surprise at that point, I’d have been surprised that smoke wasn’t wisping up from sections of my skin that couldn’t contain the energy they were forcing into me.

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’

Of course it mattered if I told them. It mattered that I’d told them anything at all. It wasn’t that Bucky would feel betrayed by me, or that any one I knew had high standards for me withstanding torture (everyone knows that everyone breaks. It’s only a matter of time and properly applied effort) but it mattered that as long as I could hold out, I should. As long as I could pretend that the pain was temporary and something I could endure, I should endure it. As long as I could pretend—

Piercing pain ran jagged down my body. This time it scrambled me so badly I barely noticed that my torturer didn’t ask me the question another time. After a couple seconds I managed to focus my eyes and I saw him adding something to my IV drip from a syringe. My stomach roiled. No. No no no no no—

You can almost pretend that you can endure pain, that you have even some small control over it, but this—

I could almost guarantee that whatever he just pumped into my body would take away even the illusion of control that I clutched to myself like my childhood stuffed animal. 

I was already breathing pretty fast but this ticked it up a notch. He noticed. Of course.

‘You are protecting him. There is no point. Not only is he not a man worth protecting, we will have him soon and then there will be nothing to protect. So whatever you think you can keep from us it will do neither you nor him any good.’ He paused, as if he was waiting for my answer. I was gulping down air like I was drowning but I said nothing. I would say nothing, I would say nothing, I would say nothing—

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’

Pain, sharp and biting and inside me, it was inside me, God, I couldn’t get it out, it was inside me, God—

As the drugs sank deeper into my system I found it harder and harder to concentrate. Every time the electricity coursed through me I could hear myself grow louder and louder and soon I was shaking and mewling even when nothing was happening to me. Every time the pain stopped, he was there with his question. The question never changed and neither did his voice. They were a strangely steady constant in the newly slippery world of my mind. I wanted to hold onto them like a rock in the middle of the pounding surf, but even in my shattered state I vaguely sensed that was the wrong thing to do. So I flung myself desperately into the waves, hoping against hope that this time I’d drown, that this time would be the last time, that there would be no more pain.

There was always more pain.

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’

Asset? Who was the Asset? Was he talking about Bucky? 

_Bucky._

There was something, something about Bucky…

Pain slammed and pounded me onto sharp sharp rocks.

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’

House. Bucky was at my house. Was he still at my house? I’d been gone so long…

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’

Bucky was at my house to stay away from Hydra.

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’

He needed to stay away from Hydra.

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’

Hydra was bad.

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’

Hydra hurt him. Stay away, Bucky. Stay away from Hydra.

‘Why was the Asset at your house?’

Stay away from Hydra, Bucky. Stay away from me. Stay safe, and stay away.

 

Stay away.


	22. Chapter 22

I had been lost in my own head for what felt like eternity. I heard questions and answered them even though I couldn’t have told anyone what was said, even by myself. Words were incomprehensible and vague—I understood that they were noise and nothing more.

Occasionally there was pain and the noises always seemed to increase when that happened and sometimes I would come back to myself enough to understand that I was the one who was screaming. But the pain was as difficult to understand as the words and my mind was numb to both of them.

There were periods of time where I think I was unconscious, but it’s hard to say. Time was endless. Pain was endless. I couldn’t even wish for an end to it because there wasn’t enough left of me to wish for anything anymore.

I drowned in a sea of noise and pain but no matter how my body was wracked with destruction I never died.

They wouldn’t let me.

They must have missed my latest dose because the noises around me sharpened into understandable sounds: yelling, the heavy clomp of running boots, and the distant sound of explosions. These were sounds I heard and knew what they were, even though I was still too out of it to understand what they meant. 

The door behind me opened—that’s not good, that never means anything good—and the quick patter of footsteps revealed itself to be one of my torturers. They wore lab coats like scientists but there was nothing of science in what they did to me. He had a syringe in his hand and I recognized that too but other than an uptick in my heartbeat and breathing my body was beyond my control. 

He quickly pumped whatever drug it was into my IV—no no no, not again—and left without ever really looking at me.

I wasn’t truly conscious enough to be curious about the situation, but deep down inside I knew something was off, something was different. That part of me scrambled and screamed to be heard but the drug was a heavy weight on my mind and soon I couldn’t even remember that I had thoughts at all.

Before I was dragged back down into the bottomless depths of my endless ocean I registered an increase in the noise around me. More running boots. More explosions. Gunfire?

Screaming?

Screaming. If I had the strength I would have nodded sagely to myself. I knew what screaming sounded like.

It was my lullaby and it held me under the water until I stopped struggling.

 

I was being carried over someone’s shoulder as they ran through a dark dark place, their panting breaths mixed with other sounds—a name? My name?

 

I was in a car, tucked tight into blankets as the engine rumbled around me.

 

I was in someone’s arms, rocking minutely back and forth as they walked, the sound of their voice soothing me back into a sleep that contained no screams: only silence.

 

* * * *

 

I woke with a shudder and a gasp to the dark inside of a tent. It was cold, so cold—my body wouldn’t stop shaking and my hands were too unsteady to even grab the nearby blanket and pull it over my shoulders.

The sound of the zipper being undone from the outside of the tent made me jump and scramble back as best as I could—which was not very. I mostly ended up half fallen over on my elbows looking up at the dark silhouette of Bucky. I couldn’t seem to draw enough air into my lungs, my shivers and shudders driving all the oxygen away. He was at my side in an instant, pulling me into the warmth of his arms and gently pressing one hand into my back in time with his breathing.

It took a long time for me to steady. There was a flickering fire outside the tent that I could see from the open tent flap. The area surrounding us seemed to have few trees and from the angle of the sky, we might have been on a mountain.

It didn’t really matter where we were: we weren’t where I had been. There were no walls, no lights, no voices asking questions: just a tent that I finally recognized as coming from my own attic, and me and Bucky.

Bucky!

I pushed back on him slightly and he loosened his grip enough for me to look up at him.

‘You—‘ my voice rasped and I coughed in surprise. ‘—you—‘ my voice cut out on me and I coughed again.

Bucky gripped the back of my neck in one hand and said firmly, ‘Wait,’ as he got up and left the tent. He was back shortly with a bottle of water which he opened and held up to my mouth. I tried to grab it but he shook his head and glared at me (something I could see even in the half dark of the tent) until I acquiesced and let him dribble small amounts of water down my throat at a time.

Eventually he let me take the water bottle from him and sip it myself. I felt a tad resentful. I know better than to gulp water when I’m that thirsty, Bucky. There’s no need to treat me like I’m a COMPLETE idiot.

Said the girl who was kidnapped and had to be rescued.

‘wince.’

About that…

‘Bucky,’ I said, and my throat finally decided to cooperate. ‘How…are you—are you okay? That was Hydra, Bucky…’ 

While I was captured the only things I had prayed for was an end to my pain and that Bucky would stay safe far far away. He’d come after me instead. I didn’t know what to do with that.

‘Less of them now than before,’ was Bucky’s answer.

‘Well good,’ was my instinctive response. The world could use less of them in it. I started to shudder again, the water almost sloshing out of my water bottle. Bucky took it from me and recapped it, placing it to one side. He then slowly reached for me, giving me plenty of time to object before he wrapped his arms around me. 

‘It’s the drugs they gave you. They’ll wear off soon.’

I nodded weakly against his shoulder. He was so warm. I didn’t want him to stop holding me ever. I still had questions, though.

‘How did you find me?’

‘Found someone willing to talk.’

Oh god. I’d talked. Oh god oh god oh god…

I must have said something aloud because Bucky held me tighter and rocked me slightly, saying ‘It’s okay, it’s okay Lily, you’re safe now, they’ll never get you again—‘

‘But I talked, Bucky—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to! I tried not to, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry—‘

Everyone knows that everyone talks under torture. But no one ever tells you how you live with that after it’s all over.

Sure I’d fought it as much as humanly possible, sure I hadn’t willingly given them a single piece of information—but I talked. Eventually when the pain was bad enough and the drugs were strong enough, I talked. I wasn’t sure about what—maybe I’d been trading my recipe for chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, ha—but almost certainly, whatever I knew about Bucky, Hydra now knew.

It was too much for me. Sobs burst from my throat and tears drenched Bucky’s shoulder where I pushed my face into it. My body shuddered harder than from the drug withdrawal but Bucky didn’t let go. He just held onto me and let me cry myself out.

Dear God but he’s one of the best men I’ve ever known. Hydra had captured him over 70 years ago, they’d tortured him, brainwashed him, done horrible things to him that I could barely imagine, and here he was. Sitting with me on a mountainside after having gone back into the belly of the beast to rescue me. And after all he’d endured and suffered he could still hold me and whisper that it would all be okay, that he’d never let anyone hurt me again.

Oh.

Oh that’s—

Oh.

My heart clenched inside me. It clenched and twisted and screamed at me to get closer to Bucky, to hold him tight and never let him go because I loved him so much—

I loved him—

Loved—

Love is an odd emotion. Just try explaining it to someone sometime. You can say it’s something you feel, but we feel lots of things. What makes love so very different and more powerful than, say, confusion or sadness? Why do we make the leap from ‘liking’ someone to loving them? 

I’d liked Bucky nearly since the beginning. Yeah he terrified me, but something about him was so obviously desperately trying to be more than his past actions. Sure he made mistakes and sure he’d hurt me with some of them, but on the whole every minute of every day he was trying to rebuild himself into someone he could be proud of. He’d smiled at my baking, rescued me from Peter, danced with me, laughed with me, comforted me when I was afraid, looked after me when I couldn’t do it for myself, and I loved him.

There’s lots of different types of love, I know that. And maybe he didn’t feel any of them for me except that of friendship. It didn’t matter. I loved him. I’d be anything for him that he’d accept. If it was friendship, so be it. If it was to be family, I’d be that too. And if he wanted to leave it would break me down into so many pieces it would be so hard to put myself back together again (not again, not so soon after losing all my family, not again) but I’d never force him to stay. 

Love isn’t about control or perfection. There is no objective standard to measure it by and say, ‘ah yes, you have filled all the boxes and completed every test, you are now able to be loved.’ Love is about the perfection of the possible, the way people can be strange or broken or flawed and still somehow match each other perfectly.

I had no idea just exactly how Bucky felt about me but it didn’t matter.

I loved him.

And for now, I was in his arms and he was promising bloody vengeance against all Hydra, saying sweet nothings about how he was going to kill them all so none of them could ever touch me again.

Awwww…

God I love this man.

Eventually I stopped crying but Bucky didn’t loosen his arms so I just rested quietly in his embrace. I was thirsty again and my stomach had started growling loudly enough that I was sure Bucky could hear it but my soul was hungry too and being held by Bucky was like eating my first meal after having almost starved to death. I never wanted it to end.

It did, of course. My stomach gave a particularly loud growl that neither of us could ignore. I laughed shakily and Bucky patted me gently where his hand rested on my shoulder before releasing me. 

‘Wait here.’ 

Wait here. Stay. Always with the orders, Bucky.

I heard him rifling around outside with something, and when he came back it was with a sandwich. He didn’t have a plate so I just used my leg to put it on whenever I needed my hands free to take a drink. Which I did. Frequently. Along with only chewing small bites of the sandwich.

I’m not completely helpless, Bucky—grumble grumble grumble.

Bucky watched me eat with an intentness I’d only seen him previously apply to his fighting forms. It would have been unnerving if I wasn’t wriggling internally with how happy it made me to matter to him this much. What? I’d just been kidnapped and tortured and realized I’d fallen in love. Cut me at least a little slack?

After I finished the sandwich I felt tired but I was far too jittery to sleep. 

‘Where are we?’

‘Eagle Rock, Rushton State Park.’

Huh. That was a fair bit away from where I lived. ‘Why here?’

Bucky shifted slightly. He was always so still, I wasn’t sure what to make of that. ‘Easy to defend, not likely to have any visitors. No one will look for you out here.’

‘Okay.’ Wait—‘Look for me? What about you?’ Ahhh, there came the shift again. I see you, Bucky. I see you.

‘I didn’t get all of them.’

‘Well, yeah, they’re Hydra—it’s always cut off one head etc. etc.’ I waved my hands vaguely. ‘You shouldn’t keep going against them alone, Bucky.’

He looked at me blankly. ‘That’s how I operate. Alone.’

Well maybe up till now, Bucky, but no. That’s how people get dead. And no way was I going to tolerate some macho ‘I can do it all myself’ attitude about this. Sure, fine, you want to DIY the plumbing, great, I’ll keep the plumber on speed dial for when you flood the house.

Who do you call when your houseguest/love of your life is trying to take down Hydra by himself?

Oh right—we have people for that now. 

‘You don’t have to do it alone, Bucky. What about Steve?’ I asked, knowing full well that I was sticking myself into a conversation Bucky was not going to want to have.

And yep, there he went. Bucky didn’t even bother replying, he just got up and walked out of the tent. I shivered, but it was more of a psychological reaction to the loss of his presence than a decrease in my body temperature. I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders just in case, though, as I followed him outside.

He was standing at the edge of the clearing the tent was in, and as I got closer I could see it was also the edge of the mountain, dropping down a long long ways that I couldn’t see clearly in the dark. The stars were out, twinkling brightly in the darkness above, easy to see now that the fire wasn’t in my eyes. 

I stood near him, close, but not crowding his space, and kept my silence. I couldn’t force him to do anything, but I sure could make a case for doing something smart instead of stupid. 

‘I work alone,’ he said finally, with the air of a man who had more to say but was unsure of how to say it.

I had so much I wanted to say back: I know, Bucky. You were Hydra’s assassin. But before that you were a Howling Commando and before that you had Steve. You’re not supposed to be alone in this.

But I stayed quiet. Better to let him talk himself through this.

He went on, eventually. ‘No point in bringing Steve into this. Better for him to keep clear of this, last thing he needs is—‘ Bucky cut himself off. Oh-ho, Bucky, is that how it is? It’s not that you don’t want him around, you just want him safe.

I could relate to that.

But Steve wasn’t just Steve Rogers anymore. He was Captain America and an Avenger and he knew other Avengers and if there was anyone I would want protecting Bucky and me and taking down Hydra, it would be them.

But I didn’t grow up with Steve as my best friend. Maybe I’d be a bit more protective of him too if I had.

I had one more card to play, and it was a dirty rotten trick and I felt awful for pulling it but I had to try. ‘Okay, Bucky. I get it. But…I’m really worried about you trying to do this all alone. I know you’re the best at what you do, but you’re not taking down one or two people—you’re talking about a whole organization, or at least, the part of it that’s around here. I wish—I wish you had someone to watch your back and look out for you. I—I wish I could do that. For you.’

Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I pulled out the Guilt Trip. Guaranteed to cause shame in at least one half of participants. 

Bucky’s reaction wasn’t what I expected, though. It was a lot stronger.

‘No!’ He turned toward me and grabbed me almost roughly. ‘You’re staying here where it’s safe. They won’t find you here and I’ll be back in a week to give the all clear.’ He walked away to pick up a large duffel and slung it across his back. ‘You’ll have enough food until then, but Lily—‘ he paused at this, looking straight at me, his face profiled in the firelight, ‘if I’m not back by then, use the rope and get out of here. Go home. If Hydra has me they won’t want you anymore—‘

‘What the Hell?’ I shouted at him. I don’t swear a lot but this seemed like an appropriate time. I stormed up to him. ‘That’s your plan to keep me safe? Either kill all of them or get killed in return? Like hell,’ I growled. ‘This is why I wanted you to have someone with you on this—‘

‘I work alone—‘

‘Oh great, just great—you work alone,’ I sneered back at him, far too upset to be reasonable. There was no way in HELL I’d accept a future where Hydra got their hands back on Bucky. No way at all. ‘Work alone, die alone, is that it? Is that it?’ I shoved him with all my strength and couldn’t shift him an inch. He just stood there and took it. ‘This is a terrible plan, Bucky—‘

‘You’ll be safe,’ he said stubbornly, but I’m stubborn too.

‘Safe? On top of a mountain where no one knows where I am? Oh yeah, except for you and maybe Hydra.’ Bucky twitched. ‘What happens if they come here when you’re gone? How would I get in touch with you? How would I find you when I leave here?’

‘You’re not supposed to look for me, Hydra—‘

‘Is not getting their hands on you, do you hear me Bucky? They’re not getting anywhere near you—‘ I started to break down a little. Arguments and fights are not my strong point and this one had lasted a lot longer than mine usually did. The instant my breath caught in my throat and I started to cry a little Bucky was wrapped around me again, murmuring softly into my ear.

‘Hey, hey, it’s all right, you’ll be okay—‘ it’s not me I’m really worried about, Bucky, ‘—I’ll be alright, everything will be fine, everything’s going to be fine…’

No. No it won’t. You’re going out there again to fight them alone, and I know you’re good, you got me out all by yourself, but your luck won’t last forever and I can’t have you making stupid decisions and dying or getting captured. I can’t do it.

I clutched desperately at his shirt hoping he’d change his mind, knowing he never would. ‘Please just come back, Bucky. Please,’ I begged softly.

He didn’t say anything. I guess he didn’t want to lie.

He pulled back eventually, laying a soft solitary kiss to my forehead before walking to the edge of the clearing and dropping off the mountain into the dark.

I cried quietly for a while, feeling tight and unhappy. So many things were out of my control, so many things could end so very very badly. And I was far less concerned about what could happen to me, versus what would happen to him.

I loved him, and I was terrified that I would never see him again.


	23. Chapter 23

The mountain was boring.

Don’t get me wrong, I really like camping—fresh crisp air, the smell of wood smoke, the freedom of being so far away from everything—it’s all great.

But the mountain was boring.

The clearing that I’d seen the night before in the dark wasn’t all that much bigger by daylight. When Bucky had said it was ‘hard to get to’ and I wasn’t likely to get any visitors, he wasn’t kidding. I tried to find a way down that didn’t involve a sheer cliff face and I couldn’t find it.

Gulp.

I guess that’s why he told me to use the rope.

Thoughts of rappelling solo down several hundred feet of cliff were terrifying and begged the question of just how did Bucky get down last night? He’d pretty much just jumped over the edge and I’d been too upset to question him but wow was that ever a bad idea Bucky, don’t jump off several hundred foot cliffs. I craned my head cautiously over the edge but there weren’t any worrying splashes of color at the bottom so I guess he made it all right.

That still didn’t answer the question of how he got all these supplies up here, though. 

I mean, sure, the tent and the sleeping bag weren’t all that heavy or bulky. He could probably have slung them over his back and climbed up (eek), but what about the cooler full of food? The lanterns? The cooking gear? My stuff?

Because oh wow he brought me stuff. It was only a backpack’s worth, but it probably had a hard time closing when he packed it. Lots of changes of clothes, my stuffed animal, and as many books as he could fit.

Books.

I got kidnapped by Hydra and Bucky packed me books. They were all random selections from my shelves—I didn’t have a complete series in the six books he’d packed—but that didn’t matter.

They were my books.

He’d brought me books.

It was probably more due to the stresses of the kidnapping/torture etc, but the idea of Bucky knowing me well enough to bring books along with the necessities of food and clothes made me cry.

I was crying a lot. It’s part of what made the mountain so boring.

I mean, yeah, I had six books to read, but I couldn’t concentrate long enough to read more than a page so most of the time I just hugged them to myself like a security blanket and tried not to imagine all the terrible things that could be happening to Bucky right now.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: having a good imagination is not always a gift.

So yeah, day one of my mountain top idyll was really boring. I mostly sat around crying and moping and sighing and behaving exactly like those horrible romance book “heroines” who can’t do anything without a man there to tell them how pretty they are.

Gah.

(and yes, I’ve read romance books too. Many of them are awful. Some of them aren’t that bad. No judging)

Day Two I was a bit more proactive. If by proactive you mean remembering to eat regular meals and taking an inventory of all the supplies I had. (there certainly was a lot of rope and oh wow there were more guns than I was expecting)

Day Three I splashed around in the trickle stream that was on the edge of the clearing. It was fresh enough to drink (at least I was hoping it was because that’s what I was drinking after I finished all the sealed water bottles) and it came straight out of the cliff face that carried on going up and up and up above my camp site. There was a nice tumble of rocks behind my tent that you had to climb to get to it, but since the clearing was only twenty yards total it wasn’t that big of a deal.

And yes, splashing around in that stream was the only interesting thing about that day.

Day Four I spent huddled in the tent except for brief trips out for food and bathroom breaks. I’d had a horrible nightmare that I couldn’t shake. I was back in that room again with my primary torturer leaning over me, telling me that I’d never escaped, that it was all a hallucination brought on by the drugs.

I woke up screaming and couldn’t stop for hours. I rubbed my arm raw reassuring myself that there wasn’t still an IV in it pumping poison into me.

I wished for Bucky’s comforting arms and violent reassurances. I wished for my friends and my home. I wished for my dead family. I found myself begging for someone, anyone, to come and save me. Please, please, please…

It was a bad day.

Day Five I finished up the last of the fresh food (no more bacon, sigh) and had only canned soup and packaged oatmeal left, along with a bit of chocolate that I was hoarding to console myself with after I had to scale the cliffs of insanity if Bucky didn’t come back in time. And I was very carefully NOT thinking about all the reasons he would have to not come back on time, because he WOULD come back, he WOULD.

Although even if he did come back and everything was hunky dory I would still have to get down from this mountain somehow.

Wait, how did I get up this mountain in the first place? Did Bucky tie me into a harness and haul me up like a sack of potatoes? Terrifying to contemplate, but the alternative might be even worse: did he tie me to himself and just scale the cliff freestyle?

Eek. Major eek.

So getting down from this fortress of solitude was going to be difficult no matter what happened. But if Bucky was around at least I’d feel better about jumping off a cliff face.

There would still be screaming though. Lots and lots of screaming.

Day Six started out like the rest of my days on top of this mountain, except that I had to eat oatmeal instead of eggs or bacon or pancakes. Gah. At least there was syrup for flavoring. I’d been waking up pretty early all this week due to a combination of nightmares and going to sleep a little after dusk and waking up near to dawn. It’s much easier to keep that kind of schedule when you sleep in a tent and are trying to save your flashlight batteries for emergencies.

Even though it was summer it was still cool up there early in the morning. Midday could feel unspeakably hot but in the morning I’d stay wrapped up in a blanket if I could. I was contemplating taking another splash bath this afternoon when a disparate collection of noises penetrated my musing. I’d gotten used to the sounds on the top of this mountain—lots of birds, lots of wind, some distant plane sounds, and not much else.

Certainly not any rock scraping noises or approaching helicopter noises.

Gulp.

I admit I panicked a little. Well, a lot. I’d been up here alone for long enough that I had started to believe that no one was going to find me and that I might be a little bit safe.

Safe.

Ha.

So my insides felt like they were all screaming, and standing up and running over to where Bucky stashed a bunch of guns in the tent was difficult, but I managed it. Somehow. 

I didn’t have a lot of experience with guns (two trips to the range with a friend does not count as having experience. It barely counts as ‘knowing enough not to shoot yourself’) but I knew how to find a safety and check for bullets. Yay. Although there might have been an extra step in there somewhere…was I supposed to pull back on the slide at some point?

It’s a very good thing that I wasn’t expected to shoot someone right then and there because not only would my gun not have fired but even if it had I was so panicked I would have been more likely to hit a bird flying past than them. And just as I was gathering enough courage to go to the edge of the cliff and ascertain whether or not those rock scraping noises were indeed someone climbing up to kill me, Bucky scrambled into view.

Heart in my throat, I could have screamed for joy at seeing him alive and back again, but I could see immediately that things were not okay. For one, he was moving far more sluggishly than he had since the first night I saw him, and even then he was pretty scary fast. For two, he was having trouble getting off the ground and picking up the astoundingly large duffle bag he’d carried up with him. 

I ran over to him. ‘Bucky!’

He looked up at me, panic, relief and despair all swirling through his eyes. ‘Lily. They’re coming. I’m sorry. I—‘ he cut off as a massive amount of pain flashed over his face.

‘Bucky what happened?’

‘No time,’ he gasped out. ‘Got to get you safe—have to climb—‘

The helicopters were getting louder. I could see them approaching in the distance. I gulped, and pulled deeply into myself for as much calm and strength as I was capable of. We were going to need it all.

‘We can’t climb. They’re too close, they’ll pick us off the wall like fish in a barrel.’ There was so much screaming in my head. Can’t climb, can’t hide, can’t fight, Bucky’s hurt, I’m useless, Hydra’s here, Hydra’s here—

‘Lily—‘

‘No!’ There was only one small good thing about this situation, and that was the mountain itself. If we could get our backs to the upper cliff they couldn’t come from behind us and even the helicopters would be limited in how they could come at us. 

Limited? My internal monologue gibbered and shrieked. They can still strafe you from side to side you idiot!

Shut up internal monologue. You don’t have any better ideas.

I urged Bucky to his feet. ‘Come on, get up. Have to get to the cliff,’ I wheezed out while trying to help Bucky stand. Dear God he’s far too heavy for me to shift, please don’t let him fall, please don’t let him pass out, I won’t leave him, I can’t leave him—

Bucky shook his head to clear it and managed to stand, although he swayed worryingly. I could see far too many splashes of red against his dark clothes and each one was a source of terror to me. Bucky had advanced healing but how much blood could he lose before his body couldn’t keep up anymore? He bent over to pick up the duffle, bracing himself—albeit unwillingly—against me so he didn’t fall over. From the tightness around his eyes and the tension in his back I knew he was holding it together from sheer force of will alone but that was far more encouraging that it could have been.

Bucky’s force of will was a mountain. He’d batter down worlds and galaxies with it if he had to. Carrying a heavy duffle and half running 20 yards was nothing, even if he was badly wounded.

Please let him not be badly wounded.

My many wanderings around my campsite had not been in vain—I knew the exact right spot for our last stand.

Last stand…

Shut up.

There were enough boulders piled near the upper cliff to give us some good cover—

Good cover? What the hell is wrong with you, Lily? You’re not a soldier, you can’t say things like that, who the hell do you think you are?

—and Bucky must have agreed with me because he didn’t try to change position, only dropped the duffle and did a quick survey of the sight lines. Then he knelt, and started to take gun after gun after gun out of the bag, lining them up between the two of us with a dexterity and quickness that was belied by the trickles of blood I could see seeping down his arms.

One gun came out in pieces but as quick as blinking Bucky had it assembled and perched on top of our sheltering boulder on a mini tripod. It was massive and black and looked like it could blow through a tank with a precision shot.

The helicopters were so loud now, so close I could see them hovering just out of range of the mountain, clearly taking a moment to assess the situation and figure out their best plan of attack.

Attack.

Defend. We were going to defend, right? We were going to survive this, right?

‘Lily,’ Bucky’s voice graveled near my ear as his hands laid gently on top of my shaking ones. It was clearly not the first time he’d said my name. He took the gun held precariously in my grip and he gave it a once over, more assured and competent in one half hearted gesture than I’d been in the fumbling minute it had taken me before.

He handed it back to me, pressing it gently but firmly back into my hands. I took it and tried to remember to breathe, just breathe Lily, concentrate, breathe—

I steadied, looking straight into his eyes and reading well concealed despair there. Bucky wasn’t sure we were going to make it out of this. He wouldn’t say it, no never would he say it, but he was better than me at calculating battle odds and his eyes knew that death was our likely outcome.

That should have made me more nervous, it should have made me collapse in a useless heap, but my danger/panic responses aren’t wired right in my brain, and the threat of a sure thing only makes me calmer and more likely to stand my ground.

Some things are worth fighting for, even if they kill you.

And I wanted to live. Dear God, I wanted both of us to live.

Bucky must have seen some of that on my face because he nodded once before speaking. ‘They’ll use the guns on the helicopters first, try and kill us from a distance. When that won’t work they’ll put men on the ground.’ He flicked a considering look at the pistol in my hand and quickly swapped it out for something large that looked like it would shoot farther and do a lot more damage (how would I know what it was, it was a big gun, leave me alone). ‘Try and cover our left, I’ll take care of the right. Remember, deep breaths, shoot on the exhale. Lily—‘ despite his stern focus on the danger, his face was anguished. ‘I’m so sorry. I promised you’d be safe, I promised—‘

Hugging wasn’t in the cards right now, and neither was a passionate first kiss before we died. We weren’t sitting close enough for either and honestly I think it would have been far too awkward to try and kiss him when we were both concentrating far more on those helicopters. I wanted to kiss him, wanted to tell him how I felt, how much I loved him, but—

Well. I think the way we were willing to die for each other said enough. But I wouldn’t let him spend our last moments alive apologizing.

‘Bucky,’ I cut through another ‘sorry’ and it was so hard not to blurt out ‘I love you,’ it was so hard—‘Bucky.’ His eyes flicked toward me, then back to the helicopters, then back again. ‘Thank you. And you kept your promises. Every one of them.’

Bucky clearly would have objected but that was the moment the helicopters opened fire. 

I wanted to scream from the sheer _noise_ of it all. The thud-thud-thud of the two helicopters’ blades, the rapid rattling impact of bullets on the cliff face above us and the boulders below, the ricocheting rocks and shards of stone that whizzed past my face and made me flinch and hunch even closer to the ground as it all went on and on and on and on…

The impact of silence was as terrible as the noise had been. Bucky had said that after the helicopter bombardment they would send men on the ground. I turned my head to look at Bucky. He’d recovered from the gunfire a lot better than I had, but he was shaking his head to clear it a lot and I could almost see the strength fading from him.

It didn’t matter much what happened next. Bucky was going to die if he didn’t get any medical treatment.

‘Eyes front,’ he said harshly, knowing even without looking that I was staring at him rather than at the enemies out front. It was an echo of the Sergeant leading his men into battle, and it was something I’d never seen from him before. ‘Six from each helicopter. You take the ones on the left. Fire short bursts only. Got it?’

‘Yes,’ I choked out. I’d never wanted to go to war, knew I wouldn’t be any good at it. My head ached from the cessation of noise and my right leg throbbed a painful countertune. One of the stone shards must have hit it. I’d have to—

Men started sliding out of the helicopters on ropes that reached to the ground. Two never even made it as Bucky’s massive gun fired one, twice, three times. One of those shots must have missed though, and it didn’t matter anyway because I had to fire myself, oh god, I had to shoot—

Breathe deep. Shoot on the exhale. Short bursts.

Breathe deep. Shoot. 

Breathe deep. Shoot.

I know I hit some of them, although I’m not sure how many I just grazed or didn’t hit at all but threw themselves behind the sparse cover of the trees. Bucky had traded out his massive gun for something smaller but no less deadly, I could tell by the different sounds and the way men continued to fall. I did my best to keep up, continuing to fire even when I didn’t have a good shot, just trying to stem the tide long enough, hold out long enough, just live long enough—

There were three or four men still alive in the meadow when Bucky collapsed next to me. His time had run out, he’d lost too much blood, neither of us had even attempted to bandage him, there hadn’t been time-

Dear God why hadn’t there been time—

Bucky was dying next to me but I was dying next to him because there were three men left, three men I didn’t have a hope in hell of killing all by myself, I was going to die, Bucky was going to die—

There was an odd pause then, on that smoky mountaintop riddled with bullet holes and soaked in the blood of the dead and dying. I’d heard of the strange quiet that can come unannounced on a battlefield when everything stops for just a moment and everyone catches their breath and makes new plans on how to kill each other because we’re all desperate to stay alive, all desperate to live just a little bit longer and gasp that smoky air like it was heaven’s own breath.

I could see the three men in my meadow pull back slightly. That didn’t seem good. I did my best to fire at all of them, trying to make it seem like Bucky and I were both still fighting, both still enemies to be reckoned with (not just one scared and useless English major, nearly having a heart attack when her gun ran out of bullets and having to switch it out for one of the others near her side).

The men pulled back and I could see the helicopters surge forward, oh god, another strafing run, no—

I screamed this time when they opened fire, screamed and yelled and curled into a ball even though I knew what was coming, knew what would happen after the helicopters stopped firing—

Because those three men in my meadow—

Those three men the helicopters were providing cover fire for—

They were coming for us.

The first man was almost up and over our boulders as soon as the helicopters stopped firing. I screamed in fear as I shot him and screamed again in pain as his gun fired back and hit me in my left arm. He died though, fell and died on top of our boulders and then the other two were coming, the other two—

Everything was fear and adrenaline and screaming and shooting and pain and bleeding and it was only when I tried to get to my knees to fire at the other two men that I realized the pain in my right leg was far more serious than a stone shard. It must have been a bullet because it grated against my bone and I nearly passed out from the pain of it and I’m not sure if that motion saved my life or made it worse because one of those two men shot at me and there was a pain in my side like I’d never felt, I’d been shot, I’d been shot—

I screamed and shot back, desperate and cornered and still not ready to die, not yet, not yet—

The men were dead, they were dead at my hand, their bodies littered our small fortress and one of them had half fallen over Bucky and I wanted to move him, he didn’t deserve to be touching Bucky, but the helicopters were so much louder now. The men on the ground might have been dead but the helicopters howled bloody vengeance and rained bullets down on us like a thunderstorm and I couldn’t fight helicopters, I couldn’t protect us from their destruction, I couldn’t—

I couldn’t let us die here. I couldn’t. 

I wouldn’t.

So amid the deadly hail of bullets fired at our crumbling cover I crawled and heaved my broken bleeding body closer and closer to Bucky. I was crying and screaming and panting and begging and none of it mattered, it was all just noise, just noise…

I couldn’t hear anything above the shattering sound of the helicopters, but the moment my hand gripped Bucky’s monster of a gun, the impact rang out in my head like the tone of a bell. 

My left arm was barely workable, my right leg useless and dangerous to depend on, there was a bullet somewhere in my left side and everything hurt, everything hurt—

But there was a gun in my hands that was big and dangerous and there was a man at my side who was dying and I WASN’T FINISHED YET—DO YOU HEAR ME? 

I WASN’T FINISHED YET!

My first pull on the trigger yielded nothing but a click. I heaved for a breath of air and braced the gun against my body as I fumbled for the bolt on the side of the gun to reload.

My second pull on the trigger nearly killed me as the gun recoiled hard enough to slam into my chin because it was still half sitting on my chest and I hadn’t braced it properly.

I reloaded.

Breathed deep.

And shot on the exhale straight towards the lead helicopter.

I don’t know what kind of gun I was shooting. I don’t know what kind of armoring the helicopter had. I’m just an ignorant English major caught up with events that are far too crazy to contemplate, especially when I’m on the verge of death.

What I do know is that when I fired Bucky’s massive gun at the helicopter, I somehow hit it, and hit it somewhere important if the way it started slewing and whirling around was any indication.

Neither helicopter was firing anymore but there was still so much noise as the two of them danced around each other in that small enclosed space right next to the mountain, one trying not to crash and the other trying not to be crashed into.

They both failed.

I didn’t have the strength left to scream as both helicopters collided almost right above our heads. There was heat and noise and pain but all of that was dim because I was pressed into Bucky, desperately trying to shield him with my own body, because if there was a chance he was still alive, still breathing, still healing, I couldn’t let him get hurt anymore, couldn’t let him be damaged further—

Because I was already dead, you understand. I had three bullet wounds in me leaking blood I couldn’t afford to lose and I had no accelerated healing to fix me and keep me alive. A little more shrapnel from an exploding helicopter wouldn’t make any difference to me.

So I did my best to shelter Bucky but the noise went on and on, exploding again and again and again until my ears were numb and useless because they could still hear helicopters flying, still hear sounds that didn’t make any sense but none of that mattered, none of that mattered a bit—

Because Bucky was breathing beneath me. It was weak and slow but I could feel him breathing beneath me and as my own breath slowed and the darkness I’d been expecting crowded around my vision, I didn’t care. It had all…

…been…

…worth…

…it…


	24. Interlude II

Interlude II

Most of my memories—the ones I still have—are of pain and fear.  
As Hydra’s Asset I never understood what was going on—I only knew it would involve hurting me and if I struggled or fought back, the pain would be worse.  
Even in my few memories of the war I don’t ever remember feeling healthy or safe. I remember waking up with my belly gnawing at my spine, shivering in the freezing cold, and fighting against pulled muscles and bruises and a bone deep exhaustion that never went away.  
And before—  
I don’t remember much from before. Just flashes. Hot summer nights that pounded me flat into the baking pavement. Sore knuckles from a fight. A churning fear and anger that roiled my stomach into fire.  
There are good memories in there too, but pain’s the easiest thing to remember.  
It’s also why I nearly took the goddamn doctor’s head off when I came to on the operating table.  
Waking up to find someone standing over me with medical tools has never ended well for me.  
Someone pulls him out of the way of my arm— _I wasn’t strapped down, why didn’t they strap me down?_ —and in that split second of advantage I roll off the table and rip everything they had stuck in me out. I feel woozy and my wounds are only half closed and healing but I snarl at the hands reaching for me and I ignore all the sounds of shouting because they might have captured me but that doesn’t mean they can keep me—  
 _Lily—  
NO  
Where’s Lily—_  
I see a rush of color in my peripheral vision but I’m not fast enough to dodge so someone tackles me to the floor and no matter how hard I fight and twist and scream whoever he is is strong and fast and he’s not injured like I am—  
 _\--it’s not possible for him to be this strong, this fast—_  
\--and it’s only when he’s got me mostly pinned to the floor that I can finally hear what’s he’s been saying to me all this time,  
‘Bucky, easy Bucky, you’re safe, it’s all right! Bucky!’  
 _Steve_  
It’s _Steve._  
Which should be a relief because Steve’s not Hydra but he’s pinning me down—  
Pinning me down—  
And I want to stop struggling, want to tell him I know who he is—  
But he’s pinning me down—  
I scream and writhe my body in a way that lets me slam the back of my head into his nose and his grip loosens—  
 _Hell, Stevie, I’m so sorry—_  
And I manage to throw him off and dive out of the room because no one else can stand up to me, even ragged and hurt and completely buck-ass naked as I am. I push a well-built black man out of my way and he slams into a nearby wall but he keeps coming—  
 _Ex-soldier, well-trained, somehow familiar…_  
And I don’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to hurt Steve, but I have to find Lily, have to find—  
The hospital staff are clearing out quickly after all the shouts and yells. One of them’s not running, though, he’s walking straight toward me like nothing can touch him, like I couldn’t rip him in half with just my flesh arm. His brown hair is neatly trimmed and his goatee is eye-searingly precise and there’s this sound coming from his hand—  
His hand—  
It’s glowing, and from the pitch of the sound it’s going to do something bad soon.  
There’s not much room to dodge in the hallway but I’m fast and well-trained, I’m sure I can get to him before he gets a second shot off of whatever that is—  
Steve’s shouting behind me again, God dammit, don’t do this again, Steve, don’t do this—  
But he’s not tackling me and the man with the arm isn’t firing and I tune in again to hear Steve talking to the both of us—  
‘Tony—put it down! Bucky, easy, you’re safe, you don’t have to run—I said put it down, Tony!’  
I’m heaving for air and trying not to show any weakness even though my body aches and throbs—too many gunshots, too little time to heal, had to run and run and keep Lily safe, keep Lily safe—Lily!  
I slowly turn to the side, keeping my back to one side of the hallway, both men in my peripheral vision now. My eyes flick from one to the other, calculations running in my head doing the odds of trying to fight both of them to get to Lily, where have they put Lily—  
‘Bucky.’ It’s Steve. He’s a little nasally from where I broke his nose. I can see him take a step toward me but I can’t back away without getting closer to goatee-man. Jesus, Steve. Get away from me. ‘Bucky.’  
There’s something caught in my throat and it feels like a growl or a scream but when Steve takes another step toward me his proximity wrenches it out of me—  
 _‘Steve.’_  
He stops, completely pole-axed, the idiot. _‘Buck.’_ I have to look away, there’s too much on his face, I can’t handle this right now—  
Goatee-man is still aiming that weapon at me. I bare my teeth at him and growl. He sneers back. ‘You might want to muzzle that dog, Rogers, so he doesn’t take a bite out of anyone—‘  
Muzzle that dog—  
Muzzle—  
 _In public the muzzle was hot and tight and covered his face but in the compounds it was smaller and bit into his mouth and made his lips bleed, not unlike the mouth guard he had to wear in the chair—  
The Chair—_  
‘Jesus, Tony! Buck, easy, Bucky—Bucky!’ Steve is shouting again. I’m a lot closer to Goatee-man now (Tony) and the arm is aiming right at me and the sound is high pitched like the chair, the chair—  
Steve slams into me from behind, pushing me down right as Tony fires. It goes above our heads and down the hall, bursting in sparks of fire and light. Steve doesn’t try to pin me this time, just rolls to the side and jumps in front of Tony instead.  
‘Stand aside, Cap.’  
‘Like hell, Tony. You just opened fire in a hospital—‘  
‘You expect me to not defend myself—‘  
‘Jesus, Tony, do you ever listen to the words that come out of your mouth? Hydra kept a muzzle on him, you’ve seen the pictures—‘  
I’m back on my feet but I don’t know which way to run, which way is Lily—  
Lily—  
They’re still arguing, Steve and Tony: Tony trying to aim past Steve and Steve throwing himself in front of whatever thing that weapon is. Tony won’t shoot it at Steve, though, and from the way they’re arguing they must know each other pretty well—  
Steve always manages to rile everybody up. Even before they gave him the serum it was like some God-damned superpower.   
Everything’s too loud and too bright, the hospital smell clawing at the inside of my nose, demanding that I tear everything to the ground, kill them all so they can’t hurt me again, run far run fast—  
But Lily—  
I _need_ her. She makes everything quieter.   
The black man tries to sneak up behind me while Steve and Tony are arguing. I give him an unimpressed look. His lip quirks slightly and he half-shrugs. He might be a regular variety human but he’s scrappy, I’ll give him that. And familiar…  
But memories never come to me when I want them. Doesn’t matter. Don’t need them. Need Lily.  
I try to speak, but my throat closes up again and it sounds more like a growl. Damn it. The man tenses up. I shake my head at him. I’m trying here.  
‘Lily,’ I finally force out. His eyes widen and look past me.  
‘Lily?’ I hear Steve say. ‘Is that the girl you were with?’  
I turn back to Steve so fast Tony yelps and raises his arm-weapon again. ‘Where is she?’ I’m fed up with all of this. I need Lily. I need to see she’s okay. I’d left her all alone up there, all alone except for Hydra—  
Hydra—  
Dear God, tell me Hydra didn’t have her again—  
I’d passed out and left her to die—  
Even Steve’s backing up from me now, but his jaw’s doing that thing it always does when he’s in a fight too big for him, and now he’ll plant his stupid feet—  
‘She’s in here,’ the man behind me says. I stop, half turn to look at him, ready for some trick. He must see it on my face. ‘No trick, man. But she’s still in surgery—‘  
Surgery—  
She’s hurt—  
Doctors—  
No!  
 _\--the pain and the pain and the needles and the knives—  
Lily!_  
I push past him into the room he indicated, angry yelling behind me as both Steve and Tony ream the other guy out for telling me about Lily—  
‘Bucky, wait!’ Like Hell, Steve.  
He’s right on my heels and yanks me away from the Doctors that are poking at Lily with their knives and their needles and pumping her full of drugs that’ll hurt—  
‘Bucky!’  
I struggle weakly against Steve, he’s got me in a lock and I could break out of it, break him—but I can’t. I can’t.  
‘Lily—‘ I rasp out.  
‘She’s all right, Buck. She’s alive.’  
‘Get away from her!’ I growl at the Doctors, but after glancing at me—and behind me at Steve—nervously, they turn back to Lily and keep doing whatever it is they’re doing.  
‘Easy, Buck, easy,’ Steve says soothingly. ‘You’re both shot to Hell and back,’ his voice cracks as he says. Sap.  
They shot Lily?  
 _Lily!_  
The weight of Steve bears me to the floor and I let it happen, let him hold me down, hold me back, keep me from stopping the Doctors from saving her life.  
Her life.  
Damn me. Damn me straight to Hell for what I’ve done to you, Lily. Damn me.  
Steve’s still murmuring behind me and his hold’s loosened but I don’t try to break free. It hurts to stay still like this, hurts to let him hold me like I matter to him, hurts to know that Lily was injured because of me, because I wasn’t good enough—  
Everything hurts.  
The sight of the Doctors is keeping me on edge but I can’t look away, can’t stop staring at them and what they’re doing to Lily. From the sound of breathing behind me, Tony and the other man are standing in the doorway watching us on the floor, probably ready to take me out if I so much as twitch.  
I try to find my voice again. ‘What…what did they do to her?’ I pitch forward a little in an unconscious effort to get closer to Lily but Steve doesn’t react badly, just keeps holding on.  
‘You don’t remember?’ It’s Tony, that asshole.   
‘Hydra.’ I spit out. ‘The mountain. But I—‘ I swallow bitterness down. ‘Lost too much blood. Couldn’t—‘ I can’t keep going, can’t recite my failure to them.   
_Mission report—_  
Fuck you! Some part of me shrieks in reply. It feels like snarls and anger, defiance that they burned out of me whenever they could.   
‘Dunno, Cap, you’d think your supersoldier buddy here would have a bit more fight in him—‘  
‘Fuck you!’ I shout, and heave at Steve’s embracing arms. I almost break out but he’s got me dead to rights and now Steve’s yelling again, yelling at Tony, yelling at someone named Sam to get him out of here—  
‘Bucky, Bucky—‘  
Yeah yeah, I get it Steve. You like saying my name. I push half-heartedly against his hold again, not really trying to get out, just not wanting to sit still. Steve allows it, allows far too much from me.  
Damn it Steve.  
The Doctors have kept going all this while, doing their best to ignore the drama behind them. Steady beeps fill the air, audible confirmation of Lily’s heartbeat. I try to focus on it, focus on her. She’s still alive, still breathing, still living…  
My heart rate slows and I sag back against Steve. ‘Gonna let me up any time soon?’  
‘The Doctor’s need to keep working on her, Bucky. And…they didn’t finish on you either.’  
I tense. No Doctors.   
‘Just some stitches, Buck, keep you from getting infected while you heal.’  
‘I’m not leaving her.’  
He sighs. ‘I didn’t think you were.’ He shifts behind me, raising both of us to our feet. ‘You going to be able to handle it, staying here and letting them stitch you up?’  
‘No.’  
‘Bucky—‘  
‘No. Not them. You.’  
Dead silence from behind me. What? You think I’m letting someone I don’t know around me with a needle again? Like Hell, Steve.   
A faint memory tickled the back of my mind—washed out browns and greys in a tiny apartment too small for two but Steve and his mother lived there anyway—Steve was always ripping up his clothes in fights and Sara tried to teach him how to sew them back together again, but damn was that boy bad at it.   
Hmm. Maybe I shouldn’t let him stitch me up.  
But I’d been silent too long and now Steve exhales shakily and says softly, ‘Okay.’  
Damn. This is going to hurt. But if it’s Steve hurting me and not someone else, maybe I’ll be able to keep myself in check. It’s Steve.  
‘Sam,’ Steve says to somewhere behind us. ‘Get what we’ll need.’  
‘You sure about this, Rogers?’  
Wrong thing to ask, pal. If he wasn’t sure before he’ll do it now just out of stubbornness. You’ve got a thing or two to learn about Steve yet.   
I can almost _feel_ Steve giving Sam a _look_. He always was good at _looks_.  
Sam gets the things Steve needs to sew me up. I refuse to sit down in a chair, hell no, I’ll stand. Steve gives me a _look_ when I shake my head at him and stand at attention instead, but hell no. Hell no.  
Aw, Hell, Steve’s just as bad at this as I remembered. But the pain’s not all that much and Hydra trained me to endure far worse and Lily’s right in front of me, and I’m standing and not being held down in the chair or on a table and I just focus on all of that instead of kicking Steve right in his stupid face when he jams a needle far too deep into me.   
Sam speaks up from my left, ‘Damn, Steve. Remind me to never ask you for medical attention.’  
Steve flushes a little and rolls his jaw. Heh. I cock my head the tiniest bit toward Sam.  
‘Never could sew a lick. His ma gave up on him a long time ago.’ Both men freeze.  
‘Didn’t know if you remembered that, Buck.’ Steve’s working on my shoulder right now so I don’t shrug but I tilt my head a little in a silent reply. Words still aren’t the easiest thing.   
‘Some,’ I manage, then go back to Lily watching. It’s far less unsettling.  
There was a reason I didn’t want to talk to Steve. It feels far too _right_ to have him next to me now, but there’s too much _wrong_ at the same time.   
Steve finally finishes up and I risk a cursory glance down at the stitches I can see.  
I blink. Good thing I heal fast, these are a goddamn tragedy. Steve’s jaw is tight though, so I don’t say anything. I might lift a slightly incredulous eyebrow at him. He huffs a small laugh and looks to the side.   
‘Jerk.’ He mutters under his breath.  
It sparks something inside me, something warm and _right—_  
‘Punk.’ I whisper. My stomach flip-flops. It’s _right_ , but it’s all _wrong—_  
Of course Steve doesn’t see it that way. His face glows with happiness. It dims a little as he takes in my frown and I shrug him out of view.  
I can’t deal with you now, Steve. Leave me alone.  
The Doctors are _still_ working on Lily. I shift uneasily. ‘How long?’ I ask.  
I can feel Steve and Sam sharing a look, trying to decide how much to tell me.  
‘How. Long.’ I ask again.  
‘Maybe another hour or two,’ Sam answers. ‘She…lost a lot of blood.’  
 _Lily_  
My jaw clenches. ‘What happened.’  
Silence again. Then Steve says, ‘We were hoping you could tell us. We only got there as the helicopters exploded—‘  
What. I whip my head around to stare at him.  
‘—I guess you didn’t know about that part…’ Steve says slowly.  
Damn right I didn’t know about that part, Steve—  
‘And when we landed,’ Steve continues, ‘You and her were the only ones left alive up there, and we weren’t even sure where you were at first—‘ Sam makes a warning noise but Steve runs headlong into danger like he always does, ‘—but when Sam moved her to do triage, we found you under her.’  
I sway on my feet. I can’t help it. I shake my head to try and clear it, realizing that one of my hands is clamped on Steve’s shoulder as he keeps me upright.   
Exploding helicopters. Me unconscious. Lily—  
Of course she threw herself on top of me. Damn her for not looking after herself.  
Damn me for all of this.  
‘The shrapnel,’ I finally say. ‘Bad?’  
‘No! Oh no, Bucky, the shrapnel wasn’t bad at all, but she’d lost a lot of blood from the bullets—‘ Steve breaks off into a strangled gasp as my grip tightens accidentally on his shoulder. I throw myself away from him when I notice what I did.  
I shake my head again, sorry, sorry…  
 _Lily_  
Bullets?  
‘How many?’ I rasp. I have to know. I have to know how much I failed her, how close she was to dying because of me, how much more blood I have on my hands—  
‘Hey man,’ Sam speaks up again. ‘She’ll be all right. We got to the both of you in time, thanks to Stark’s ridiculously fast and well-supplied quin-jet.  
Stark?  
Another familiar name. Something…  
Who the hell cares!  
‘How. Many.’ I stare at him. His face is calm and kind. Composed. Empathetic. It won’t stop me from punching him if he doesn’t—  
‘Three.’ He finally says.  
Three.  
Three bullets.  
Three holes leaking blood and pain.  
Did she have any of them before I passed out?  
Did she have to endure them all while I was lying useless next to her?  
Did she—  
Steve’s in front of me again, keeping me from getting closer to Lily. He’s saying my name again, repeating it as if it mattered, as if any of this mattered—  
Time passes. Steve blocks my periodic attempts to get past him. Sam leaves and reenters every so often with cups of coffee or water he tries to pass to either of us.  
We don’t take them.  
The Doctors are conferring. They’ve stopped working on Lily and they’re conferring and now they’re leaving—  
Steve finally lets me slip past him.  
Lily.  
There’s still blood and dirt smeared on some of her visible skin. I touch her arm gently, light as a puff of air, not daring to do anything more.  
Lily.  
She’s so white. There are needles in her arm and I have to clench my hands to keep myself from tearing them out of her—she needs them, she doesn’t have advanced healing, she needs them—  
Lily.  
‘Buck. They’re going to move her down the hall. Private room’  
I twist one of my hands into the sheets that trail down from the bed. I’m not leaving her. I hear Steve sigh softly (unenhanced hearing wouldn’t pick up on it) and I can hear him quietly asking the nurses to let me walk alongside. There’s some minor arguing but not enough to stop me.  
We change rooms. The halls are mostly clear, but I still get some odd looks from other doctors and nurses passing through the halls.   
Metal arm’s pretty obvious.  
Or maybe it’s the nakedness.  
Lily had a hard time with that, I remember…  
The room we enter is decently sized for a private one. The nurses try to transfer Lily from the surgical table to the bed but then back away when I menace them.  
‘Bucky…’ Steve sounds disapproving. Tough luck, pal. No one gets to touch her. I’d do it myself but I can’t risk jostling her. I jerk my head at him. He sighs again, but gets with the program and lifts her as carefully as possible, placing her down on the bed with the gentlest of motions. The nurses buzz around for a moment, setting up equipment to monitor her, checking her IV’s and blood drip, and when they finally leave it couldn’t be soon enough.  
I stand at Lily’s side, back to the hospital wall. I don’t have any weapons on me but against anyone but Steve I know I could win bare-handed. No one’s getting her again. No one.  
I notice that asshole Tony comes in out of the hallway to lean obnoxiously in the door. He has a small pile of something that he tosses into the room.  
‘Delivery for Ah-nuld, there. Guess Terminator doesn’t care much about clothes.’  
Steve has his disapproving face on but he bends down to pick up the clothes anyway. He passes them to me: it’s just sweatpants and a t-shirt but they’ll do. I put them on, careful to keep an eye on everything as I do. The clothes are a little tight, and the left arm is far too constrictive. I rip it off. Tony blinks in surprise, but Steve doesn’t even flinch. I bare my teeth in what could very loosely be called a smile at Tony.  
It only encourages him.  
‘Don’t make such a fuss, bubble-butt, you called us, remember?’ Jesus Christ, does he say anything without that mocking tone? Aww, jeez, and now Steve’s staring all hopeful at me.   
‘I thought you’d get there sooner.’ I reply darkly. Steve winces. Tony seems unaffected.  
‘Well maybe if someone wasn’t born in the stone age he’d have realized Hydra had a tracker on him and it wouldn’t have mattered.’  
What. The. Hell.  
I move away from the bed a little. ‘Tracker?’ I say softly. Not nicely.  
‘The which I’ve been blocking the signal of ever since we found you, thanks ever so much Tony, I don’t know what I’d do without your genius—‘  
I growl. It’s not eloquent but it shuts him up for a second. ‘Where.’  
‘Well if you’d—‘  
‘Where?’ I half shout at him. This is my life we’re talking about. My life and Lily’s, all down the fucking drain because Hydra knew where I was the whole time, they knew how to find me and I led them straight to Lily, straight to—  
‘Easy Bucky—‘  
‘Shut the hell up, Steve.’ Stop telling me to be ‘easy,’ Christ, there’s nothing EASY about any of this.  
‘Well if you just let me take a look at that arm of yours,’ Stark drawls and ambles closer to me.  
I clench the metal fist. ‘Just try it,’ I say.  
No one gets to touch it now. No one but me.  
‘Well if he’s got to look at it,’ Steve tries to be reasonable.  
‘No.’  
‘Let me pop the hood, Buck-ster, it’ll only take a second—‘  
‘Like hell—‘  
‘Tony, this might not be the best way to—‘  
‘Do you want Hydra down on our asses again? Because—‘

God help me, Lily better wake up soon because friends or not, I’m about to kill everyone in this room.


	25. Chapter 25

I wasn’t expecting to wake up.

When I passed out on top of the mountain from blood loss and pain, I never expected to wake up again. It felt like falling off a cliff—you know, kind of terrifying and peaceful all at the same time because yeah you’re going to die once you hit the bottom but until then it’s useless to panic because you’re falling and can’t do anything to change that.

I may be a bit odd. Maybe.

Waking felt like I was slowly rising out of deep water. Like there was this intense pressure holding me together that gradually faded until I was in the open air and everything was so sharp and intense and real I almost blacked out from the shock. 

There were sounds all around me, beeps and voices; the physical sensations from my body were muddled and weird, like everything was weighted down and numb but super sensitive at the same time.

My eyelids felt heavy and gummy and I didn’t really want to open them but there were those noises all around me and I wanted to know what they were. I grimaced. Everything felt so odd…

Blinking took a surprising amount of concentration (I felt like I was trying out for the Olympics in opening-your-eyes) and it was hard to understand what I was seeing at first, but once I did I felt rage fizzing under the muzzy blanket in my head.

Bucky was being cornered by two men and although they were making an effort to keep their voices down I could tell that it wasn’t a friendly discussion. Bucky looked angry. Trapped. Desperate. I wanted to growl at them. No one puts Bucky in a corner.

I tried to say something but my throat was locked down tight—I couldn’t even cough. I started to panic a little. My body wasn’t responding to me and everything felt distant and weird and Bucky was in trouble, Bucky was unhappy, Bucky—

There was a man at my side with a kind face who didn’t immediately notice that I was awake, but when he glanced down at me and met my eyes his own widened.

‘Guys—‘ He tried to say, but no one payed any attention to him.

My breathing started to get really intense and my internal monologue was stuck on one track: Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky—when the shorter man yelling at Bucky put a hand out like he was going to push him.

Bucky flinched back.

Bucky—

They were going to hurt Bucky—

The man at my side was now staring at me with wide eyes and there was a loud beeping coming from something nearby but I didn’t care, I didn’t care, because I could finally _speak—_

‘Get away from him!’ I tried to shout, but it came out more like a crackly whisper. It worked though, because everyone turned to stare at me and Bucky shoved both of them out of the way to get to my side. He hovered anxiously, like I was the one in trouble who needed help, hands almost fluttering like he didn’t know where to put them.

What’s going on Bucky? You’ve never been the dithering sort before.

Oh right. Those assholes who were yelling at you. I’ll take care of that.

So I glared at them as best as I could and tried to force my body upright because glaring is much more intimidating when you’re not lying down, right?

Bucky wouldn’t let me get up though. I looked at him puzzled then tried again. No dice, he just put his hand on my sternum and suddenly I might as well have been weighed down by a polite boulder. I frowned up at him. How can I protect you Bucky if you won’t let me get up? He just looked at me like he was watching a ghost. How odd.

If only my head weren’t so fuzzy…

Gah. I tried to shake it to clear it but Whoah was that a bad idea. The room spun around me and I had to blink several times before it steadied.

‘Lily, Lily, come on, Lily—‘ Bucky was saying. 

‘Bucky…’ I whispered, and felt him curl closer to me in relief. ‘Don’ worry, ‘m okay.’ Huh, my words were coming out funky. 

‘She’s just coming out of the anesthesia,’ I heard someone say. I turned my head to the side to see. It was the man who’d been standing next to me. ‘She’ll be a little groggy and she needs to rest.’

Rest? Not while there are people hurting Bucky. I tried to get up again. Bucky made a small noise this time when he held me down. ‘Lily, easy—‘

‘Wha’s goin’ on?’ Grr, I was still all slurring and stuff. Come on, lips! Talking isn’t that hard. ‘Where—who?’ I settled for small one word questions because clearly my body was being a grouch.

‘You’re in a hospital,’ the kind-faced man said. Well thanks bunches man-that-I-don’t-know, but I was talking to Bucky. I twitched the hand nearest to him. I meant to poke him with it to get him to answer me, but my stupid body wouldn’t move right. Bucky seemed to take the twitch as a request for him to hold my hand, though, which felt really nice even if it didn’t answer any of my questions.

So I glared at the nice man because consistency is important when establishing dominance over annoying or dangerous people. No one had told me who they were yet, so it was all their fault anyway.

‘Wow, she’s like a tiny fluff ball of rage,’ said the short man at the end of the bed who’d been about to hurt Bucky. I usually don’t like to respond to taunts, but he’d threatened Bucky and I couldn’t let that stand.

So I growled at him. He blinked, looked at Bucky, then back at me. ‘What are you, twins?’ He scoffed.

Whatever that means.

‘Go ‘way.’ I tried to say firmly.

‘No can do, princess, I need to—‘ and he was gesturing at Bucky again, Bucky, who was looking trapped and unhappy and so so miserable and who very unwisely had stopped putting pressure on me to keep me down.

So I sat up.

Which maaaybe was a little bit of a mistake if how everyone reacted was any indication. There was rushing and muted shouting and gentle reminders that I’d just gotten out of surgery and really needed to lie down and not exacerbate my injuries but oh no, they weren’t going to stop me. I grabbed onto Bucky’s t-shirt with my right arm (the left wasn’t working so well and it was all numb and weird) and did my best to lunge for the short asshole at the end of my bed. 

‘Go. Away. Now.’ I said between gritted teeth before Bucky carefully overpowered me and leaned me back on the bed. ‘Bucky,’ I whined and scrabbled at his arm with my hand. He just took it and placed it delicately by my side again. ‘No, but—‘ I looked up at him. ‘Do we go?’

I might as well have slapped him. Not that I could actually hurt him, but you know. If I was strong enough that a slap would feel like more than a light tap, he wouldn’t look any more stunned.

‘Lily—no, you—‘ his normally stoic face crumpled a little and he had a hard time continuing. Oh Bucky. ‘You need to rest. They hurt you—‘ he couldn’t go on.

Well yeah, Hydra’s awful like that. They hurt both of us. But I wasn’t going to stay with these people if they were going to hurt Bucky. So yeah. Leaving now.

‘Do we go?’ I repeated, doing my best to indicate how I felt about the three strangers in my room with disdainful flicks of my eyes.

He let out a ragged laugh and shook his head. ‘No. No.’ He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders relaxing a little.

Oh. Okay. So we’re good here? I let myself relax too, exhaustion rising up over me like a giant wave about to crash. Bother. I need to stay awake just a little longer, need to understand what was going on—

‘Lily,’ Bucky was talking. I did my best to focus on him. ‘That’s Steve,’ he said with a tense motion of his head to the tall man behind him. 

Steve?

OH.

STEVE.

I blinked. Huh. You’d think I would have recognized Captain America, even out of the uniform—he’s pretty distinctive—but I guess waking up in a strange hospital right after you nearly get killed by Hydra is enough to make anyone a little scatter-brained.

‘Oh,’ I elegantly replied. ‘Hi Steve.’ Steve nodded with a polite smile to me, but I could tell most of his concentration was on Bucky. Well yeah. Of course. You show Captain America the best friend he thought died over 70 years ago and everyone else turns into chopped liver.

Short-asshole-man just snorted at us and rolled his eyes expressively. 

Oh wait. If that’s Captain America, that must be…

Tony Stark. 

Who I just yelled at and growled at and would have done something physical to if Bucky hadn’t stopped me.

Whatever. He’d been mean to Bucky.

But because my parents raised me to be polite I only made a slight face at him before saying, ‘Hello.’

He quirked an eyebrow at me and didn’t deign to reply, just took out his phone and started rapidly tapping at it.

‘And I’m Sam, you know. In case you were wondering,’ said the man to my side with evident good humor.

The corner of my mouth twitched into a smile. ‘Hi Sam.’ It came out a little slurred, which made Bucky lean over me anxiously again. ‘M’ okay Bucky. Really…’

I don’t think he believed me. His mouth got all twisted and firm and he started running his hands lightly all over me, checking to make sure I was intact. I did my best to follow his progress with my eyes, but that wave of exhaustion had started to crash over me and I whimpered as I felt the undertow dragging me down.

I didn’t want to sleep, didn’t want to go. Bucky was here, Bucky—

His hand was on my forehead, soft against my face, soothing me and letting me know he was still here, we were both still here…

I slipped into an unconsciousness that was as deep as it was resentful. 

Bucky…

* * * *

Waking up the second time was similar to the first, it just happened a lot faster. I understood where I was right away and my heart jumped in my chest until I turned my head enough to see Bucky sitting next to me, bolt upright and keeping watch. It made me want to smile.

‘Hey,’ I whispered. He jumped to his feet immediately and started doing the body check again with his hands, which, alright, I’m not complaining about—Bucky, hands, all over me—but I could see from the deep circles below his eyes and the tightness in his shoulders that he hadn’t rested the entire time I was asleep which was a No.

Bucky had been badly injured too—he’d nearly died! He needed rest just as much as I did. But when I opened my mouth to tell him that he shoved a straw in it that was attached to a cup full of water. 

Mmph, gurgle, fine. I was thirsty anyway. I sipped slowly, careful to let each mouthful sit in my mouth for a second before swallowing. I managed to drink half the cup without choking, so yay! When I spit the straw out of my mouth to talk to Bucky he just whisked himself away with the cup and brought it back full. I shook my head.

‘Bucky—‘

He was ignoring me AND doing a full body check for the second time in two minutes. I don’t think anything’s changed, Bucky. Really. I didn’t even move, what’s the big—

Oh. Right. We nearly died. 

Which brought up a very important question.

‘How bad?’ Oh that’s nice, my voice was sounding a bit stronger.

Bucky doesn’t do things like twitch or flinch or tap his fingers when he’s nervous (evil Hydra bastards probably ‘trained’ that out of him) he kind of just goes still, or his natural stillness just intensifies. But to simplify, when I asked him ‘how bad,’ yeah he totally flinched which didn’t make my nerves feel any better.

He shook his head slightly in that I-don’t-know-what-to-say-but-I-have-to-say-something-but-I’m-not-going-to-actually-say-anything-because-words-are-hard kind of way. Oh Bucky.

‘S’ okay, just want to know how long I’ll be healing up.’ I said as reassuringly as possible. His metal hand clenched. Oh. That bad? My stomach lurched. Please Bucky, say something. Anything! Say it’ll take a year, two years, say I’ve lost the use of my leg—I can deal with that better than I can deal with not knowing!

‘Gunshot to the upper left arm,’ when Bucky finally spoke it was mechanical and flat. Like a report. Oh, Bucky. ‘Three months recovery. Gunshot to lower left abdomen, recovery time three months. Gunshot to right thigh—‘ his voice trailed off until it was hard to hear. ‘Six months recovery.’ He jerked up his chin and stared off into the distance. ‘Shrapnel to back, 2-4 weeks recovery with a high chance of infection.’ He finally broke and looked at me, despair in his eyes even if it wasn’t on his face, ‘Lily—‘

‘Bucky, s’okay—full recovery?’ I questioned. He nodded. Oh. Phew, relief feels awesome. Full recovery? Boo-yah, eat that Hydra! I smiled broadly at Bucky. He seemed to find it confusing and he cut his eyes to the left, then back to me. ‘Everything’s okay then. Probably have to do physical therapy though,’ I pretended to grump. He just shook his head.

‘Don’t know.’

I mock sighed. ‘Bet _you_ don’t have to do physical therapy. Just have to sleep and eat and be a supersoldier for a couple of weeks. ‘M totally envious.’

Okay, time to stop teasing Bucky, he wasn’t taking it well. You’d think he’d be more used to life and death situations though.

‘Wasn’t enough.’ Bucky’s voice grated and his eyes were raw with pain. What? ‘Wasn’t enough to keep you safe. Keep you—‘ Bucky turned away and braced both hands against the wall and hung his head between his arms. I could see his back through his white t-shirt and each spot where he’d been stitched up showed clearly. There were so many—so many it boggled my mind that he’d been able to outrun Hydra to get back to the mountain, let alone climb it with a huge bag of guns and then proceed to kill almost all of the Hydra agents before passing out from blood loss.

Wasn’t enough? Oh Bucky no.

I struggled to find something to say that he would believe. It was hard, though, because they had me on some sort of painkiller drip and it was fogging up my head when I needed it to be clear, needed to be clear to Bucky that none of this was his fault. My thoughts scrambled, then attached themselves to a niggling piece of information.

‘Why’re Steve and Tony here?’ If I was going to call Captain America Steve, I wasn’t going to say ‘Iron Man’ in the same sentence. He could be Tony and be grateful for it.

Bucky tensed a little before saying to the wall. ‘Called.’

Called. A smile formed on my face again. Really? Awesome. I know how much he was against contacting Steve, so that couldn’t have been easy for him, calling for backup. 

‘If they hadn’t shown up, we would have died,’ I started to say but Bucky interrupted me.

‘Yes, I wasn’t enough—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have ever, you should have never—It was all my fault,’ Bucky rambled, his body tensing, the metal arm whirring and sounding like it was powering up. Eek. Better derail this train of thought fast.

‘You saved us.’

‘No, they—‘

‘If you hadn’t called, they wouldn’t have saved us. We’d be dead. We’re not. You—I know you didn’t want to call Steve, I knew you weren’t ready for that and I pushed you and I’m sorry, but if you hadn’t called we’d be dead so you saved us. You.’

‘Doesn’t work like that,’ Bucky mumbled, but his wasn’t as tense as he was before.

‘Course it does,’ I mumbled back, because if we were going to have a mumble fest then I was joining in.

‘You’re supposed to be sleeping.’ Bucky grumbled at me. Ha. Resorting to dirty tactics mean I won the argument and you just don’t want to admit it.

‘Don’t want to sleep,’ I said around a yawn. Grr.

Bucky turned back to me, his eyes still a little wild. ‘Still need to sleep.’

‘So do you,’ I groused, glaring at him just a bit for emphasis.

He shrugged. ‘Can’t sleep here. The smell…’

Right. Hospital smell. Human experiments. Ack. It was a miracle he was as calm as he was. 

‘You’re not staying, are you.’ I said softly.

He flinched. A real full on flinch. ‘Can’t.’ He rasped. ‘I—I’m sorry Lily, I can’t—‘

‘Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,’ I soothed him as best as I could. ‘I, I wish you could stay, I—I don’t want you to go, just—‘ I felt my face collapse like it does right before you start to cry, ‘stay with me? Until I fall asleep again?’ I pleaded.

I needed this. Needed to feel him near me, needed to know that both of us were safe and alive. Who knows when I’d see him again?

Oh Bucky.

He wiped a tear from my eye that I didn’t know had leaked out. I stared at him hopefully. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before nodding and exhaling.

Carefully, ever so carefully, Bucky shifted me to my side and slid onto the bed next to me, only letting me balance on my damaged areas for half a second before turning me so that I lay on my stomach on top of him.

Oh.

He was _warm._

Not that I’d felt cold before but he was warm underneath me and when he wrapped his arms around me I was warm there too and even though I knew he didn’t feel the way I felt about him I couldn’t resist nuzzling into his chest slightly because he felt like home and despite everything it was still the best feeling in the whole world.

His hand shifted slightly and began to comb through my hair, gently scratching at my scalp. And normally when I feel good I have trouble falling asleep because it just feels too good to miss, you know? But I was injured and healing and doped up on painkillers and the man I loved was holding me like I mattered to him and everything just floated away from me on a warm sea of joy.

There were soft voices later, and movements that as careful as they were jostled me enough that I whimpered and had to be soothed back to sleep with a gentle hand on my hair.

Even later, I awoke to a room devoid of Bucky, even if new guy Sam was sitting next to me.

I couldn’t keep the pain from my voice or my face when I asked, ‘He gone?’

He nodded. His face was understanding, calm. It helped, though not much.

I nodded back and looked away.

He spoke up. ‘He didn’t want to leave, you know?’

‘Yeah. I know.’ I whispered.

‘Made me promise to look after you. Guy scary as that, you don’t say no, right?’ He teased gently. I knew it was teasing because I could tell he was the kind of guy who didn’t need to be scared into doing something nice or good. But he was kind of serious at the same time: he did find Bucky scary.

I gave him a wan smile. It was enough. 

Oh Bucky, who’ll look after you now that I can’t? You’re still healing too, and you made sure I’d be looked after, but what about you? I doubt you took Steve with you, even though I sure he’d have gone without hesitating. 

You better look after yourself Bucky. Because when I get better, I’ll give you a piece of my mind if you didn’t.


	26. Chapter 26

I drifted.

Sometimes you could call it sleep but other times I was too aware to be truly unconscious. Nurses came and went, periodically waking me up to ask me if I was okay.

Okay? I was asleep and you woke me up. No. Not okay. Go away. 

But you never get anywhere in life by being mean to nurses so I was as polite as possible and just feigned as much tiredness as would get me out of extraneous conversation. Not that I had to pretend much. Even with the drugs my body ached somehow and it was incredibly draining. 

Whenever I was awake I noticed that I was never truly alone: Sam or Steve was always by my side. Which, you know, was nice and all if I needed anything, but although I know Bucky asked them to look after me I don’t think that required 24 hour surveillance. 

Although knowing Bucky—

Hmph. 

It was during one of my brief periods of awakeness that I saw Tony Stark again for the first time since I tried to throw him out of my room. He came tearing inside like his pants were on fire, yelling a mile a minute and generally being the worst hospital visitor I’d ever heard of.

‘God damn it Steve, where is he?’

Steve shifted uneasily in the recliner chair near my bed. ‘Sam? He went down the hall to get some coffee, he should be back—‘

‘No, not _Sam_.’ Tony said angrily. ‘Your buddy Bucky. He’s gone. And he somehow lifted the blocker from me, so good luck ever finding him again, Cap, until something else blows up, maybe a building full of people this time—‘

His voice had been steadily been growing louder and louder, finally reaching a pitch which not even Steve could pretend didn’t get under his skin. He stood abruptly, looming over Tony in a way that made Tony puff up a little in an effort to not be so short.

Tough luck guy. Maybe buy some taller shoes.

‘Let it go, Tony, he’s not a threat.’

‘Not to you, maybe,’ Tony scoffed. ‘But there’s a long list of people who’d say otherwise and would just looove to get their hands on the Red Terror to exact some payback.’

‘And you’re one of them?’ Steve’s voice was low, dangerous, and a little bit sad.

Tony deflated just a little. ‘He’s not who he was, Cap. Letting him go free is a bad idea, no matter how much he bats those eyelashes at you.’

I nearly snorted at that. Bats his eyelashes to get his own way? Bucky was more likely to glare a problem into submission, seriously Stark.

Steve took it personally though, and I could see the back of his neck flush. ‘I didn’t—‘

‘He really didn’t,’ Sam’s voice said from the doorway. They both turn to look at him. He was carrying two cups of coffee, one of which he handed to Steve. ‘Steve wasn’t even here when he left, he was off arguing with you. Again.’ He said dryly. 

‘You just let him go?’ Tony gritted out between his teeth.

‘Hell man, I may be good, but I’m not that good,’ Sam replied peaceably. ‘When tall dark and scary tells me to look after his girl or I’ll have to answer to him and then he jumps out a window, I don’t know what you expect me to do.’

My breath froze in my throat. Bucky jumped out a window? I felt like growling. First it was a cliff, now it’s who knows how many stories up a building—

Bucky’s got a real problem with heights. Namely, as if gravity and gravity related accidents were a thing that happened to other people. 

Grrr.

‘He jumped out the window?’ Steve sounded just as upset as I felt. He rushed over to the only window that opened and looked down it as if that would help explain the situation. ‘You told me he left quickly, I didn’t think—‘ His back looked upset. ‘He’s still healing, he shouldn’t have done that.’ His tone was iron, albeit iron that was under stress.

‘You got no argument from me, there.’ Sam said. ‘I doubt I could have stopped him even if he wanted to use the stairs, but I wasn’t given the time to offer that as an option.’

Tony had been silent for too long, stewing in his own fear and rage. ‘What else did the Red Menace say, hmm? Any touching remarks left for ‘his girl’ there? And what about poor faithful Steve, any messages left for him?’ and wow I don’t remember the last time I heard sarcasm so vitriolic. 

Steve bristled and Sam swiped a hand wearily across his face like he didn’t have the energy to deal with this right now. Or ever, really.

‘Tony—‘

Sam put a calming hand on Steve’s shoulder. Man, Sam was like a diplomat extraordinaire. If he was getting paid for this, he deserved a bonus. ‘He didn’t say much, Stark, only that he couldn’t stay and he wanted us to look after her.’ He motioned toward me. ‘He asked me to tell Steve he was sorry, and then he jumped out that window. From what I could tell, though, it didn’t seem like he was saying goodbye forever. Just, you know, until she’s not in the hospital anymore.’

‘What, he can’t stand to be in a hospital?’ Tony sneered. ‘Granted, one out of five adults—‘

Tony had gotten on my last nerve.

‘Hydra tortured him, experimented on him, hurt him, and you expect he’s just going to sit quietly in a place that’s the epitome of all the awful thing’s that’ve happened to him over the last 70 years? You need to get your head examined.’ I said snidely. 

‘All day, every day, and twice on Sundays,’ Tony said into the stunned silence that followed my contribution to the conversation. It didn’t even make any sense, what he said, but I guess he was feeling a little off his game.

‘Uhuh.’ I said brilliantly. ‘He’s gone. Too late now to stop him. Not too late to stop arguing about it.’ I was proud of that rather pointed statement. Sam hid a smile and Steve’s shoulders released a bit of their tension. Tony’s mouth twisted but it didn’t seem entirely negative. So there was that, at least.

‘Good,’ I murmured, tired again. ‘It’s okay, you know? He won’t—it’ll be okay.’ I tried to reassure them, but I was feeling less than eloquent. Steve believed me, but then, I think Steve would believe a tree if it told him good news about Bucky. Not that I blamed him. I’d probably believe the tree too. Sam was neutral about it, which wasn’t so bad. Tony’s open hostility had dimmed but he still walked away tense and muttering to himself under his breath. 

‘Sorry about all that,’ Steve said sincerely with a firm nod of his head. 

‘S’okay,’ I said. ‘Just…no more yelling?’ I was fading fast.

‘No more yelling,’ Sam reassured me, taking a seat next to the bed. 

‘Good. Thanks.’ I wanted to explain more about how I wasn’t very good at arguments, even if I wasn’t involved in them, but my body had decided that I’d been awake long enough and really needed to be asleep right that moment.

So I drifted away from my hospital room and all its occupants and our problems. Unconsciousness didn’t sound so bad after all that drama.

If only I could have stayed asleep.

I don’t know if I dreamed or what it was about, but waking was as terrifying as a nightmare. My heart pounded and the lights above me were too bright, too bright—

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move. Everything hurt and I was strapped down and they were going to hurt me again, I know they were going to hurt me again because there was a needle in my arm—

Oh God—

A needle in my arm—

I had to get it out, had to take it out, had to—

Had to—

I managed to lift my left arm and it hurt, it hurt to move it, the pain dispelling some of my muzzy-headedness, just enough so that I remembered I wasn’t captured by Hydra anymore, I was in a hospital. I was in a hospital and the drugs being pumped into me were ones I needed because I’d been shot. I’d been shot by Hydra but they were dead now, dead, and I wasn’t, and if I wanted to stay that way I had to keep that needle in my arm—

Had to—

I curled my hands into fists and tried desperately not to rip that needle right out of my arm. Fear swamped me, rushing over me in waves and demanding that I take that needle out, take it out right now, had to take it out—

I whimpered from the force of it, from trying to hold back and not rip the IV out, I needed it, I needed it, I needed it—

Repetition didn’t help. But my noise must have caught someone’s attention because I could feel someone standing over me and when I opened my eyes I could see Tony hovering nervously by my side, clearly trying to decide whether to call a nurse.

‘Please,’ I choked out, ‘Please—‘ He had to help, had to stop me, please stop me.

‘What do you need? I’m really not the best at this you know,’ He said in an undertone. ‘Should have waited for Steve or Sam to get back—‘

‘Please, need to—can’t—‘ the sheer _need_ to rip that needle out of my arm was making it difficult to speak. 

‘I’m going to call the nurse,’ Tony said quickly, but that wouldn’t help me, I didn’t need the nurse I needed—

‘Hold me down,’ I managed to gasp out. ‘Please, I can’t—‘ I whimpered again in frustration at my inability to control myself. ‘Don’t let me take the IV out, I know I need it—‘ _need it, need it, need it_ , ‘—but I can’t. I can’t!’ I lost control and scrabbled desperately for where the IV entered my body. I could feel it like a burning brand dripping poison into my veins, changing me, killing me—

Firm callused hands caught me before I could damage myself. They pressed both of my hands down into the mattress and I took a deep breath in an effort to calm down. It didn’t really work but it gave me the impetus to clutch tightly at the blanket as if my grip would keep me from doing something stupid. Maybe it would.

I blinked gratefully up at Tony. Tony who was standing over me with a look on his face like he was trying to decipher something horribly complicated and was coming up short.

‘B-better,’ I managed to say. He nodded.

‘Tony!’ There was an angry shout from the door to the room. Steve ran into view, face set like a battering ram.

‘Ease up there, Capsicle,’ Tony said lightly, but I could tell he didn’t mean it that way. ‘She asked me to.’ 

I nodded quickly when Steve looked at me. ‘M’sorry, I can’t…’ I squirmed under Tony’s hands, not trying to get loose, just overcome with the force of my fear. Tony’s hands remained on mine, though, solid and steady. ‘Should probably tie me down,’ I whispered.

‘Not going to happen,’ Steve said. He moved over to the other side of my bed and took over holding that hand down so Tony didn’t have to lean awkwardly over me. ‘What’s wrong? Did you call the nurse?’ He looked at Tony accusingly.

‘She said not to…’ Tony trailed off under the force of Steve’s disapproval face. Steve hunted around for the call button and pressed it forcefully.

‘Nurse can’t help,’ I said weakly. ‘I’m just…having trouble keeping the IV in.’

Oh no, I made Captain America go all concerned. Help. ‘What’s wrong? Does it hurt?’

I shook my head unhappily, my face twisting and tightening. ‘Bad memories, you know? It’s how I woke up with Hydra, needle in my arm…’ my stomach dropped as I saw Steve and Tony blankly digest what I just told them. Oh. They didn’t know about that.

Before they could say anything the nurse entered, shocked at the strange tableau over my bed. Tony fast talked the nurse, asking about the contents of the IV and whether or not it could be removed. The nurse explained it still held my drug drip as well as my antibiotics and it wasn’t a good idea for me to go off it yet. I tried to nod stoically but I think everyone in that room could tell how I felt about it. Tony asked offhandedly if they could increase my drug dose to cut down on my pain levels, (or rather, my mental pain levels). The nurse agreed, made a few adjustments to some machine, asked me some questions that I nodded or shook my head to, hardly hearing what she was saying, before she left us alone.

Tony and Steve were still holding me down which I appreciated. The fear was still there, still demanding that I get that IV out of my arm any way possible. The nurse had increased my drug dose though, so it wasn’t long before I involuntarily started to relax as everything became just a little more distant and easy to bear.

They hadn’t said a word since the nurse left, which in my slightly drifty mind translated to ‘bad,’ so I started talking.

‘So you didn’t know about the Hydra thing? Bucky didn’t tell you?’

There was a pregnant pause. ‘He didn’t say much,’ Steve finally said.

‘Mm. No, he does that. The not-talking-thing.’ Wow, the difference just a little more drugs make…

‘Lily—‘ Steve cuts himself off, clearly unsure of what to ask me. It’s okay, Steve. I’m feeling a lot better now.

‘When were you kidnapped by Hydra?’ Tony just straight up asks. Steve glares at him a bit from underneath concerned eyebrows but he doesn’t contradict him.

‘Mmm, two weeks ago? Week and a half? Hard to tell, I don’t know how long they had me.’ Both Steve and Tony wince slightly.

‘Is that where you met Bucky?’ Steve asks gently.

‘What? No. He was living at my house.’

‘Your house.’ Tony says blankly.

‘Yes. He broke in one night and ate all the food in my fridge—not that I had that much—and drank the last of my milk. That part really annoyed me, ‘cause I wanted to use that milk for mac and cheese the next day but then I was gonna have to go shopping,’ I rambled. 

‘But he broke into your house?’ Steve tried to clarify. ‘And you let him stay?’

‘Well yeah. He was scary, you know? But not _bad_. And he mostly just slept a lot at first—‘

Bucky’s and mine story unfolded in starts and stops. Occasionally Steve or Tony would say something to get me back on track but they mostly just let me go. I don’t know how clearly I was explaining things, but I think they got the general idea.

I got to the part where Hydra kidnapped me out of my house and even in my half-drugged state I noticed them tensing up. What’s the deal, guys? It happened. It’s over. It looks like I’ll still be dealing with it for a while, but you know. Them’s the breaks.

‘…Woke up in an empty room, IV in my arm, strapped to this table. Man came in, asked me questions about Bucky, used this remote to zap me when I wouldn’t say anything.’

‘How much zap?’ Tony broke in. ‘On a scale of static electricity to lightning bolt?’

‘Mm, maybe think Han Solo in that machine in Empire Strikes back.’ You could have heard a pin drop after I said that. ‘But I was holding on when it was just the pain.’ I pleaded with my eyes for them to understand. ‘I didn’t say anything. But…then he put something in my IV and…and I couldn’t…’ my voice grew small and pained. ‘I talked. I didn’t want to, but I did. Don’t really remember what I said, but there were always more drugs, always more pain, always more questions—‘ hands were forcing me back onto the bed where I’d evidently tried to push myself up from. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. 

Everything was okay. Breathe.

Everything was okay. Breathe.

When I continued my voice was watery and weak. ‘Bucky came and got me. Got me out. Don’t remember much, but then I woke up on that mountain and he told me he was going back to kill as much of Hydra as he could and I asked him not to, asked him to call for help—‘ I told this part right to Steve, he had to know I’d tried to keep Bucky safe, ‘—but he didn’t want you to get hurt. He cares a lot about you, you know that right?’

Steve’s eyes were bright with unshed tears and his smile was haphazard. He nodded at me.

‘But he went away. I was up there nearly a week, was going to have to come down soon if he didn’t get back, but then he came back with Hydra on his tail. Two helicopters, and we couldn’t get down in time so we took cover behind those rocks against the upper cliff. There were so many of them. Bucky got most of them before he passed out from blood loss. I was so scared. There were three of them left, and the two helicopters. I don’t know how I killed them. Don’t know how we survived. I’m not—I’m nobody,’ I said helplessly.

Steve was holding my hand now rather than holding it down. He shook it gently. ‘I doubt that. I really do.’ And it was Steve Rogers saying it, Captain America saying it, and despite every chaotic thing I was feeling it still managed to strike home and warm me up deep inside. 

‘Nobodies don’t take out Hydra strike teams and blow up two helicopters.’ Tony quipped at my other side. I turned my head his way, startled. I’d almost forgotten he was there too. And that had to be the nicest thing I’d heard out of him since I’d met him. I was still working on a lot of built up animosity for the way he’d treated Bucky, though, so one nice comment didn’t do much.

‘Accident,’ I mumbled. ‘Only hit one of them. He ran into the other guy.’

‘Always take the credit for someone else’s mistake,’ Tony drawled. ‘It’ll get you much farther in life than modesty will.’ I could tell Steve wanted to roll his eyes at Tony, but he resisted.

‘Are you feeling any better?’ He asked me.

‘Uh-huh.’ I yawned. ‘Oh, sorry.’

‘No don’t,’ he said with a small laugh. ‘It’s all right. Think you’ll be able to sleep?’

‘Mm-hmm.’ I hummed, burrowing deeper into the bed. The drugs were still pretty strong, and my strange nightmarish compulsion had faded a while back.

Steve nodded, then released my hand with a gentle pat. He studied me carefully as if to ascertain my mental state and likelihood of trying to tear my IV out again. Don’t worry Steve. I’m good now. He nodded again as if he understood. ‘I’m going to go find Sam,’ he said quietly. ‘You good here for a little longer, Tony?’

‘Hmm, what? Yeah, of course. Roger, Rogers.’

Steve sighed in exasperation, but he got up and left without saying anything else, leaving me alone with Tony. This was a bit of a problem for me, now that I wasn’t freaking out over my IV. I wasn’t in any mood to be around a person who’d upset Bucky so badly. I still wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done (other than just be his obnoxious self) but that didn’t matter. Tony Stark had earned my personal enmity.

I tried to just close my eyes and pretend he wasn’t in the room but he spoke up before I could make a convincing go of it. My eyes popped open.

‘Torture sucks.’ Tony said somewhere to the vicinity of my left wall. 

I was tired, drugged, and in no mood for discussing this so I nearly asked him ‘what do you know about it?’ but fortunately my brain caught up with me before I did and reminded me that as much as I found Tony Stark annoying, abhorrent, and aggravating, he was also Iron Man and had become so after a _kidnapping_ by terrorists wherein they—ding ding ding! _Tortured_ him to make him build them weapons.

So despite my lingering anger I accepted his emotionally stunted olive branch and said,

‘Yeah. It does.’

He didn’t say anything else and neither did I, my desire for sleep a wish that was soon granted.


	27. Chapter 27

Sam was by my side the next morning when I woke up, and the IV was out of my arm. I couldn’t help smiling widely and running my fingers over the gauze bandage a couple of times just to make sure it was real.

God. It felt so much better having it out. I looked over at Sam and he was smiling too. 

‘The nurse took it out this morning with the Doctor’s okay. They’ve got pills for you to take now that it’s not in, though.’

I nodded in understanding. Pills are still better than an IV.

‘And I’ve got orders to make sure you drink a lot of water now that you’re not getting fluids.’ Sam brandished a cup of water with a straw in it. I quirked another smile at him and accepted the straw in my mouth. I drank slowly but surely, finishing up the cup to an approved face by Sam.

‘Good. Now that nurse won’t have to bury me down a deep dark hole for not looking after you.’ I huffed a laugh. He said ‘nurse,’ but I could almost guarantee he meant ‘Bucky.’

‘I like water,’ I said raspily, then cleared my throat. ‘It’s my favorite thing to drink.’

‘Well that makes things easier then.’ Sam smiled. He got up to refill the cup but he put it on my tray table and maneuvered it so that I’d be able to reach it with my undamaged right arm. Oh, that’s just so nice of you, Sam. Not that I don’t appreciate you waiting on me hand and foot (who am I kidding, I really really don’t like it, it feels awkward to have someone doing something for me that I can do myself) but it’s the small things in life that make you feel better.

Being able to drink water on my own felt awesome.

A nurse came in soon after with pills and a tray of breakfast. The eggs looked soggy and the toast was very dry but I did my best to eat as much of it as I could. Glurgh. I much prefer eggs when I make them myself. Or when Bucky makes them. He makes good eggs.

It felt weird eating in front of Sam though, so I felt like I had to offer something. 

‘Um, Sam?’ He looked up from the magazine he was perusing. ‘I know that offering you hospital food could probably be construed more as an insult than as politeness, but…you’re not eating? And this toast isn’t absolutely awful if you want something.’ I wasn’t going to offer him the eggs. I’d only offer my worst enemy the eggs.

Sam honest to God _smirked._ ‘I don’t know, I think trying to give me hospital food counts as torture in some places.’

I laughed. ‘I know, right? These eggs are awful. The toast is really the best part about this meal. After maybe the tea. The tea is palatable.’

‘You like tea?’

‘Not really,’ I hummed as I ate my tolerable toast. ‘My mom used to drink a lot of tea, but I was always more of a hot chocolate person. Don’t like coffee either.’

‘You don’t like coffee? Are you sure you’re human?’

I snorted. ‘Nah, it’s those people who don’t like chocolate you have to watch out for. Only aliens can’t appreciate chocolate. It’s proof they’re among us,’ I said in all mock seriousness.

‘I’ll have to ask Steve if Thor likes chocolate,’ Sam mused. I blinked. Oh right. Because that’s a thing we can do now—ask aliens if they like chocolate. Huh.

The world’s changed so much so fast, now. I mean, it must have always been a pretty strange place if the universe was full of aliens and magic etc. etc., but we didn’t really know about it until a couple of years ago. That makes all the difference.

‘Ah, Lily?’ Sam interrupted my thoughts with a look on his face that suggested he was going to ask me a sensitive question as tactfully as he could. ‘I asked Bucky if there was any family we could call, and he said there wasn’t.’ 

Oh bother. Right. Because that’s usually who waits in a hospital with you. Family. My face fell, I couldn’t help it. After all that had happened, all that I’d been through in the last week or so, I just couldn’t get away without having to explain about my dead family, could I?

Sam either sensed or was prepared for my reticence because he went on quickly. ‘Which is none of my business, you know? But I was wondering if there was anyone you wanted me to call.’

Saved by Sam’s kindness and tact. I didn’t really want to go into the whole ‘my family all died in a boating accident’ thing right now, so this was a welcome relief. I had no family to call to come and sit with me in the hospital. But friends?

I could feel a squirming in my gut as I considered ‘friends.’ Oh God!

Charlie and Laura! God, they must be worried sick about me. We’d been supposed to get together for pizza and pj’s—count on a Hydra kidnapping to ruin a wonderful tradition—and who knows what they would have done when I didn’t come over…

Sam saw the panic on my face and even though he didn’t know the cause he sprang into action like Super-Therapist, taking his phone out of his pocket and was in the process of handing it to me when some shouting from the hallway interrupted him.

‘I don’t care who the hell you are, you’re letting me in to see her!’ A familiar voice yelled at the top of her not-inconsiderable lungs. A pause while someone else probably said something, then, ‘I’m the closest thing to family she’s got you pompous son-of-a-bitch, so get out of my way or so help me—‘

I didn’t even realize that there was a smile on my face until I saw Sam looking at me.

‘You know her?’

‘Yeah. She’s my friend. The one I should have called. But how did she know to come here?’ I asked, confused.

Sam shook his head in confused solidarity. ‘Don’t know. But I better go out there before she eviscerates whoever’s arguing with her.’

My smile got even wider. ‘Yeah. She’s great like that.’

Sam laughed quietly as he left the room. He was back in seconds with Laura and Charlie—

Oh my god—

And a small bundle of cloth and humanity that rested securely in Charlie’s arms.

I felt tears prick at my eyes as I realized that I hadn’t been there—I’d sworn I’d be there for the birth—but Laura was letting out strangled ‘oh’s’ as she rushed to my side. She took careful note of my bandages before hugging me as gently as she could. I dug the fingers of my good hand into her coat as tightly as I could before she moved back. She angrily wiped a stray tear from her eyes then propped both her fists on her hips and proceeded to read me the riot act.

‘You idiot!’ she yelled. Sam looked a little startled, but Charlie just smiled worriedly and more than a touch fondly. ‘You couldn’t call us? You couldn’t tell us you needed help? Lily! You were shot! And kidnapped! And we had to find out from your super-scary and not-at-all-helpful houseguest! Who? Just happens to be—‘ She cut herself off with a quick sideways look at Sam.

‘The winter soldier,’ I finished tiredly. Sam knew everything anyway, but it was nice that Laura was _trying_ to be discreet. Emphasis on ‘trying.’ ‘But he’s also Bucky Barnes, Laura—and he’s really not—‘

‘If you finish that sentence with ‘that dangerous’ or any variation thereof, so help me God I’ll—I’ll—‘ Laura broke off with an angry sniffle and flung herself down so she could kneel by my side and still half-hug me. ‘How dare you do that to me, Lily? I thought you were dead.’ Charlie patted her shoulder sympathetically and mouthed, ‘hey’ at me. I smiled weakly back. It was occurring to me that maybe I’d made some questionable decisions in the last month, despite how rational they’d seemed at the time.

‘I’m not dead yet,’ I said softly to Laura. ‘I’m only mostly dead.’

‘Oh!’ Laura scoffed and cuffed me lightly. We shared a slight laugh. ‘But really, Lily, how bad is it? He was very evasive and pretty much ran off as soon as he told us where you were.’

Classic Bucky. 

‘Three gunshot wounds,’ I said bluntly. Laura wouldn’t appreciate me sugar-coating it. There’s a reason we’re friends. ‘Some shrapnel damage to my back, but that’ll heal up pretty quick if it doesn’t get infected, and so far it’s fine. It’ll be a couple months before I’m back to mostly normal.’

Laura’s face remains calm but I can see her wanting to crumple. Time for Distraction A.

‘Hey. Hey Laura?’

‘What?’

‘You’re not pregnant anymore.’

Laura let out a bark of incredulous laughter and behind her I could see Charlie shaking his head. ‘No. No I’m not.’ She motioned for Charlie to come forward and they switched places, Charlie kneeling by my side with their newborn baby in his protective arms. 

‘Hey, Jackson,’ murmured Charlie. ‘This is your Aunt Lily. Aunt Lily, this is Jackson.’ And without so much as a pause he lifted Jackson up and put him in the crook of my good arm. I swallowed hard. 

‘Hey there, little guy. It’s good to see you. You look a lot better than your pictures.’

Laura snorted. ‘Oh my god, Lily.’ 

I smirked at her, then looked back down at the tiny miracle in my arm. Jackson was endearingly small, like most newborn babies. He’d lost most of the squashy red-faced newborn baby look which was awesome because now I could genuinely call him cute. It’s hard to call something cute that just spent 9 months underwater and then got squeezed out of a toothpaste tube. I mean, it’s amazing and it’s the miracle of birth and all—but it’s not a good look on anyone. (and neither are sonograms, let’s be completely honest)

Sam was discreetly backing out of the room and I caught his eye gratefully right before he turned and left. He nodded and then skedaddled, but probably not far knowing how seriously he took the whole ‘taking care of me’ thing.

Gah.

‘So,’ Charlie said faux casually, ‘There are an awful lot of Avengers hanging around this hospital.’

I made a face at him. Lily smacked my good arm. ‘Ow!’

‘Don’t be such a faker.’

‘You didn’t have to hit me,’ I groused. ‘I got shot. Three times.’

‘Yeah well you probably deserved it,’ Laura tried to say cuttingly, but her voice cracked in the middle of it to give the lie to the statement. Oh Laura.

I messed up. I see that now. And not just with the Bucky situation. I’d been messing up ever since my family died and my friends had been too good to call me out on it. I owed them so much more than I could ever repay.

It never hurts to start with an apology, though.

‘I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry—‘

‘Apologize after,’ Laura interrupted, demanding. ‘Story now.’

So for the second time I told the story again, although hopefully a bit more coherently now that I wasn’t recovering from a panic attack and on high levels of pain medication. I mean, I was still a bit driftier than normal, but it was much easier to marshal my thoughts into the proper patterns.

I did my best to explain how at the start of it, I wasn’t really keeping that much of a secret—or at least, that’s how it felt like at the time. It wasn’t like much happened the first two weeks. Bucky needed a place to stay and I’d promised him secrecy. _Maybe_ I could have asked him if I could tell Laura and Charlie, and _maybe_ he would have let me—but now it was neither here nor there. Too late. The milk was spilled a long time ago.

I remember glossing over certain details with Sam and Steve and Tony that forced themselves into the light with Charlie and Laura—namely, what really happened the night of our high school reunion.

‘So Peter’s car accident…’ Charlie broke in, jumping straight to the right conclusion.

‘Yeah.’ I agreed quietly. ‘I didn’t know what he did at the time, and after…I was just happy no one knew Bucky was involved. Peter was—he deserved it, I think. But—‘

‘You think?’ Laura’s voice went dramatically high. ‘He assaulted you Lily! He almost raped—Oh god—‘ Charlie put an arm around her shoulder comfortingly.

‘I know, I know. And I’m pretty sure most of the car accident didn’t hurt him any more than he’d already been hurt—but, it’s just—‘ I took a deep breath and tried to explain myself. ‘Bucky nearly killed him. And as much as Peter deserved a lot of pain for what he tried to do to me, he didn’t deserve to die. The situation was…complicated.’

‘Complicated.’ Laura repeated.

Charlie narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Complicated in the way that a man who’s been brainwashed into being a killer for the last 70 years doesn’t just give someone a slap on the wrist when they do something he doesn’t like? Complicated in the way that you probably felt responsible for what happened even though you shouldn’t have? Complicated in the way that you lied right to my face about what had happened—‘

Charlie doesn’t get angry very often. He’s a pretty calm person, which is good around Laura who’s just a tad too energetic sometimes. But watching him get angry now—knowing he was angry at me—it was like watching a storm blow in from the ocean: unstoppable and terrifying and magnificent all at once.

It was Laura who put a hand on his arm this time to stop him from going any further. He took several deep breaths and actually ended up turning around and facing the wall for a bit.

‘I can tell you did your homework,’ was my first probably unwise statement. Charlie snorted. ‘I know Bucky didn’t tell you all that.’

‘Well, when you find a man with a metal arm outside the half-destroyed house of your best friend and he tells you she’s been kidnapped by Hydra but that you can’t do anything about it, you do a little research.’

Wait, what?

‘You went to the house? When? And what did Bucky—‘

‘Later,’ Charlie said curtly. ‘You keeping going with your story.’

I shrunk into the bed and complied. I’m really not very good with angry emotions and arguments. I know Charlie had to have been insanely worried about me and that he was only now coming down from that and that was why he was so angry, but it still hurt.

The story wended on. I told them about our movie marathons, our breakfasts together, our tentative friendship. I told them about getting kidnapped and when I tried to rush over what had happened when Hydra had me both Laura and Charlie refused to let me go on until I’d told them what actually happened. I couldn’t look at them while I did—not because I expected them to judge me for what happened, but because I knew the emotions on their faces would be too much for me to handle. All this was hard enough already.

They stayed unnaturally silent through the rest of the story. The mountain was easily explained as was the gunfight that resulted in me being right there at that moment. I even shared what had happened since I’d been in the hospital; hearing about my interactions with the Avengers perked Charlie up a little. He’s totally a fanboy and I love that about him. 

‘Okay,’ I said when I’d finally finished. ‘your turn. How did you meet Bucky?’

Charlie nodded and plunged into his side of the story. How he’d gone to the house after I hadn’t showed up for pizza and pj’s. How the house had been badly damaged (I nearly cried at his description of it. That was the house I’d grown up in. The house with all the memories of my family) and how Bucky had come out of nowhere and nearly scared Charlie to death. Of course, he’d hardly been reassuring—no duh—but Charlie repeated everything that had happened, including Bucky’s erratic behavior.

Oh Bucky. He must have been frantic. Hydra had finally found him and he wasn’t safe anymore. And then I’d gone and gotten kidnapped, which just—no. Sigh.

‘And then he came to see us last night,’ Charlie said. ‘Just knocked on our door looking like a scarier version of the grim reaper—and he’d been really scary the first time I saw him. Didn’t say much, barely even looked at us, just said you were alive and at this hospital. Oh, and we have your laptop.’

I blinked at the non-sequitur, confused. Charlie explained, ‘When I was at the house with him he gave me your laptop and told me that you’d want it when you came back.’

‘Oh. Yes. Thanks.’ Was all I could say. I was melting inside, though. Bucky had packed me an emergency bag full of books and my stuffed animal, but he hadn’t forgotten about my laptop and how much it meant to me. Laura was staring at me intently and I tried to smile slightly to throw her off whatever scent she thought she had but I don’t think I succeeded. Her eyes narrowed but she didn’t say anything. 

‘So,’ I said, ‘That’s all that happened?’

‘Pretty much,’ Charlie said. 

‘Okay.’ I sank back into my hospital bed, feeling drained and exhausted. It had been a while since my morning pills too, and the pain was starting to make itself known. Jackson was still in my arm, though, and somehow he’d slept through the entire confrontation. I smiled down at him, but I knew it was far less perky than it had been an hour ago.

‘You look tired, Lily.’ Laura said.

‘Well, I got shot,’ I joked weakly. 

‘You should rest,’ she said firmly. I tilted my head to the side in silent agreement and shrugged. ‘No, I mean it.’

I sighed. I nodded. I closed my eyes and was asleep before I knew what happened.


	28. Chapter 28

I was in the hospital for almost a week more. It can be most easily summed up thusly:

Laura and Charlie called everyday even though they couldn’t visit again. Laura was still recovering from being pregnant and Charlie had to work.

Sam was amazing and insightful and definitely the easiest semi-stranger to have hanging around your hospital room.

Steve was awkward and always puppy-dog hopeful that I’d share more Bucky stories with him. They often made him sad, but then he’d share his stories about Bucky with me and the dramatic difference between the two sometimes made me sad so it was pretty much even.

Tony mostly lurked, as if Bucky would just appear out of nowhere and they’d be able to continue their violent arguing as if no time had passed. He was sarcastic and grumpy but after every whirlwind visit some new piece of weird technology or expensive chocolate would be casually hidden somewhere in my room. Sam actually fell backwards onto the floor with a very manly shriek after opening a drawer and finding a tiny mechanical thing (very technical term) that sprang out at him like a cheetah onto a gazelle. Tiny mechanical thing was actually very cute and made purring noises/vibrations that helped me sleep at night. I called it Reginald.

Of course there were less pleasant aspects to my hospital time: nurse visits were never fun, whether they were changing my bandages (ouch) or hitting me over the head with bright smiles about how much PT I had to look forward to.

I mean, seriously. Don’t tell me I’m going to enjoy something or that I’ll appreciate how ‘good for me’ it’ll be. It’s going to hurt. I get that. When you get shot three times and have a helicopter explode onto your back you should be expecting some difficulties getting back to ‘normal.’ 

PT hurt. I was prepared for that. I cried a lot. I don’t like crying in front of people, but I was pretty prepared for that too. But I get real stubborn with people who lie to me—just five more, Lily, okay good, now just five more—so I ran through a couple physical therapists before Sam found out and had to start vetting them for me.

What? Tell me you want me to do ten of these and I’ll do ten. _Don’t_ tell me it’s only five and then spring five more on me. 

Not that I was doing that many exerting things, but hey. Walking was hard when you had a bullet in your thigh right next to your bone, as well as an abdominal perforation. You use a lot of stomach muscles to walk, don’cha know. 

Ouch.

And they didn’t let me do anything without someone there to catch me when the inevitable fall came. But I was now allowed to walk myself into the bathroom which was a huge improvement as far as I was concerned. It’s such a confidence builder to have Captain America carry you into the bathroom and offer to turn his back and stand there in case you need any help getting up off the toilet, I can tell you.

Gah.

They were slowly backing down my pain meds too, which was both a relief and a problem. 

A relief, because without my head being so fuzzy I was able to carry on conversations with some of the more intelligent people in the world. (Steve is incredibly smart, even if he’s not on the same level as Tony and let’s be real, most people who tell you they understand what Tony’s saying are big fat lying liars).

A problem, because pain is painful and my body hurt a lot. Which made me want to sleep a lot. And also made me feel grouchy, but you’re not allowed to be grouchy to the Avengers, it’s a rule. Except maybe Tony. I defy anyone to not feel grouchy around Tony.

All this would have made sleeping at night more difficult but they always upped my meds for that which was kind of nice of them. So I was sleeping through the night, but it never felt restful, like I was having bad dreams I couldn’t remember. Reginald helped with those a bit, although Sam always gave him distrustful looks whenever he saw him.

All this is to say: I was entirely ready to get out of the hospital and go home.

–And see Bucky—

Shush you.

–But Bucky will probably be there—

I said shush.

I mean, I don’t know where else Bucky would be, but I hoped he’d be at the house. I know Charlie had said the house was badly damaged in the Hydra attack, but I didn’t care. It was home, and if I had to sleep on top of my bullet ridden mattress I’d do it.

I don’t know if Sam and Steve and Tony were aware of just how badly damaged the house might be, or I don’t think they’d have agreed so easily to take me there when I was released. Tony had shown up that morning looking manic and fashionable and very very grumpy that Bucky wasn’t there to be cornered into whatever Tony wanted from him.

‘He said he’d be there when you got out,’ He muttered.

Well yeah, but I took that to mean he’d _find_ me when I got out. I wasn’t expecting hospital visits from him. But I kept my mouth shut. _I was getting out._

Getting released always takes half a day, no matter how you try to speed it up. Tony was about ready to wear a hole in the floor from pacing and typing furiously on his cell phone, and Sam and Steve pretended to wait patiently while playing a card game, but from the alacrity with which they arose when the paperwork came through, it was all a sham.

I was given a prescription for several weeks of drug usage (yay) and was summarily wheeled out to a large expensive looking car. 

Courtesy of Tony, I guessed.

We all fit in pretty well which was almost a surprise considering there were four of us, and Steve and Sam aren’t exactly small. I was propped up carefully in the passenger seat and have only dim memories of the drive back to my house. I think there was loud blaring music at some point (Tony probably got ahold of the music) but that was followed by silence and angrily hissed conversations (Steve probably yelling at Tony for getting ahold of the music). 

They’d given me a drug topoff before I left the hospital which was probably for the best, since by the end of the drive I felt as worn out as if I’d been lifting rocks all day long. 

But there’s nothing quite like the feeling of coming home, so when the car bounced into my driveway—

‘Jesus Tony!’

–and I woke up with a pained whimper, I did my best to clear my head and appreciate the sight of the familiar trees as they went past my window.

I didn’t know what to expect at the end of the driveway, but what I saw took me a minute to process.

From Charlie’s description the house had been shot multiple times and a lot of the windows had been smashed out. There had been a car in the driveway that looked like a failed audition for a gang-war.

None of that was there.

If you hadn’t seen the house before I guess it would have looked pretty normal. No bullet holes. No broken windows. No strange patches of bloody dirt.

But this was my house and I knew every difference before I’d seen it for five seconds.

The windows and siding were new, paint was touched up on the trim, an effort had been made to re-grade the gravel in the driveway—what on earth?

Who’d done this in the last week?

While I was gaping at my fixed up house, Steve was opening my door and gently helping me to my feet. I’d made it pretty clear that while I’d accept some help, I really wanted to do everything I could myself. The physical therapist had agreed, as well as Sam, so that staved off Steve from hovering over me like a panicked guardian angel most of the time. Apparently, as counter-intuitive as it seems, the sooner after an injury that you’re up and about means a lot for your recovery time. I mean, not if you over do it, but still.

That worked for me.

So Steve merely offered me his arm once I was out of the car instead of swooping over and picking me up like I knew he was more than capable of. And because it was Steve doing it, it felt a bit less like helping a ninety year old lady crossing the street, and more like a gallant gesture.

Yay Steve. 

When I’d first gotten out of the car there’d been a mechanical noise it had taken me a second to place—table saw cutting wood—and when Bucky appeared around the side of the house the wood shavings on him confirmed my noise analysis. 

Bucky!

I grinned as widely as I could around the discomfort of standing and walking. 

‘Bucky!’ I said, so very very happy to see him. Steve, Sam, and Tony were all well and good, but it was Bucky I’d been missing. I couldn’t run over to him as would be my preference, but fortunately he made a bee-line straight for me.

He didn’t look very happy, though…and was that his scary murder walk?

‘Buck—‘ Steve tried to say beside me, but Bucky pretty much shouldered past him and swooped me up into his arms bridal style.

Oh wow. From up close he looked really really angry. And his shoulders were all tight. And he was saying angry things—

‘What the hell is wrong with all of you? Why is she walking, what are you trying to do, kill her?’

I could see Steve over Bucky’s shoulder as he barged into the house. He looked poleaxed. ‘Buck—‘

‘Shut your goddamn mouth, Rogers, should have expected you to be reckless with your own life, but you’ve never been careless with anyone else’s before. And you!’ Bucky whirled on Sam who’d followed the parade into my kitchen. ‘I told you to look after her! Not treat her like a god-damned machine whose parts you can just replace when they wear out and then put it back to work.’

Oh wow. This really shouldn’t be as hot as it was. His grip on me wasn’t tight, but it wasn’t going anywhere. His arms around me were sheltering and concerned and I loved every second of it—

Except for the fact that Bucky was going way overboard with all this. Steve and Sam had done nothing to deserve this tirade, but interrupting Bucky was easier said than done.

I tried tapping him on the shoulder.

‘—and did you even think to—‘

I tried saying his name, ‘Bucky,’

‘—the most god-damned stupid—‘

Because I’m a patient sort I tried one more time, ‘Bucky.’

‘—all the ways this could have—‘

I was laying with my good arm tucked against Bucky’s chest but I managed to wiggle it free just enough to slap him upside the back of his head.

You could have heard a pin drop.

‘Put. Me. Down.’ I was tired. I was hurting. The last thing I expected to receive when I came home was a profanity laden dressing down from a man—who, if I’m not very mistaken—is a hypocrite of the first order. Because there’s no way my house was looking this nice if he hadn’t been working day and night putting it back together ever since he left the hospital.

And considering he’d had many many bullet wounds of his own, he should have been spending this last week resting. Or eating. Your body needs fuel to heal, and if a supersoldier heals four times as fast as a regular mortal (thanks Steve for the numbers on that) then he probably needs four times as much food too.

Bucky looked nearly as thin as the day he’d broken into my house. He hadn’t gained a lot of weight per se in the two weeks before the kidnapping, but he’d lost his dangerously hollow look.

That was back. In spades.

So while I was being coddled and drugged back in the hospital, Bucky was here. Replacing my siding. Replacing my windows. Re-plastering my walls. Re-painting them (he must have painted them with the cans he must have found in the attic). In fact, Bucky had done everything he shouldn’t have done, because what he _should_ have done was take care of himself.

And now we were going to have _words._

Of course Bucky didn’t just put me down right then and there. Nooo, he had to cross to the living room couch and ease me down like a feather. It would have been sweet if it wasn’t so infuriating.

His face was doing it’s complicated, ‘I’m really upset and I probably shouldn’t show it but I’ve got about twenty emotions sharing space in my brain so it’s really hard’ thing. Surprisingly none of those emotions appeared to be anger for me smacking his head—it was a bit drastic, I know, and it could have gone very very badly, but call it a calculated risk.

Also he shouldn’t have ignored me.

And _of course_ as soon as I’m safely ensconced on the couch Bucky muttered something about getting me a drink of water and tried to walk away but I wasn’t having that.

So I sat up and prepared to stand. It was a lengthy process nowadays, but I was getting lots of practice. 

Bucky full on shouted, ‘No! Jesus, Lily.’ And lunged for me, forcing me gently back down on the couch in a repeat of what he’d done in the hospital when I was trying to defend his honor.

If this was déjà vu I didn’t approve.

‘Bucky, no, I’m all right. I’m allowed to sit up, it’s okay.’

Bucky shook his head, panic and guilt flashing across his eyes. ‘You’re hurt, Lily, just let me—‘

I could tell he wasn’t going to just let this whole ‘overprotective’ thing go, so it was time to be sneaky.

I smiled sweetly at him and when he slowly backed up to go fetch a glass of water that I didn’t ask for I got back up again.

He growled worriedly this time as he reached for my shoulders to push me back down, but I grabbed him by his shoulders and refused to budge.

‘Bucky. Listen to me.’

His head twitched to the side and he refused to look at my face. He wasn’t listening.

‘Bucky.’

He put steady pressure on my shoulders and unfortunately just by sheer mass he was going to win this struggle. So I decided to fight dirty.

I was already holding his shoulders so I dug my fingers in as tightly as I could and spoke slowly and calmly. Well, sort of calmly. 

‘If you don’t stop pushing me down on this sofa, so help me god, Bucky, I’ll do something you’ll regret.’

His eyes flicked to mine, clearly disbelieving. ‘And what’s that?’

I leaned in closer. ‘I’ll fight you. I’ll struggle. And you’ll win, sure enough, but I will give it everything I’ve got and I won’t care if I tear my stitches and rip open my body—I’ll break myself to pieces before I stop.’

Bucky wasn’t pushing me back any more. His eyes were wide with horror because he knew I meant it, he could see it on my face and hear it in my voice. This was something he could not budge me on and if he tried? He’d only make it worse.

It’s an unfortunate circumstance from living with Bucky for so long that I know threatening him with bodily harm wouldn’t do a thing—but forcing him to hurt me? I knew that would slice him open like nothing else would.

‘Lily, wha—why—‘ Bucky reared back to stand over me, clenching his hands like he was trying to decide whether his fight or flight response was called for.

‘Bucky. Sit. Down.’ I tried to make my voice crack with authority and goodness gracious it might have actually worked.

Bucky sat, lingering horror and confusion on his face.

Oh Bucky. I knew you wouldn’t take care of yourself but I didn’t expect it to be this bad.

I could feel my muscles trembling from the strain I’d just put them under but I didn’t dare show any weakness. If I backed down from this I’d never get the high ground again.

‘I’ve been checked over by numerous doctors and nurses. I’ve been seen by multiple physical therapists. And while they all agree that I shouldn’t overdo things—‘ Bucky made a protesting noise that I overrode, ‘—they all said that I could do—no, HAD to do—some simple things for myself again or I wouldn’t heal properly.’

Bucky was shaking his head. ‘It’s too soon, Lily, it’s barely been a week—you need more time to rest—‘

‘Rest? Like you’ve been resting?’ I said sharply. ‘You should thank god I have more sense than that—what were you thinking? Have you even been eating? Or sleeping? Because it doesn’t look like it.’

Bucky drew in on himself, but he was glaring at me all the while. ‘I was fine. I heal fast, I didn’t have to—‘

‘Have to what? Take time to heal? You’re still human, Bucky, and yes you heal faster but that means you need more food and sleep too!’

Bucky drew himself up defiantly. ‘I never did before—‘

Oh you did not just. ‘You mean when Hydra had you?’ There was a quiet gasp from the kitchen where Steve and Sam and Tony were pretending they weren’t there. ‘Fuck Hydra, Bucky. Fuck them! That is not an appropriate measuring stick for how to treat yourself!’

We were both spitting mad, now. 

‘I can look after myself,’ Bucky growled.

‘Then so can I.’ I said bitingly

Sam chose this moment to butt in, ‘Hey guys, it’s really—‘

‘Shove off Sam,’ I said curtly. This wasn’t the time and place for him to interfere. ‘Either stay quiet or get out.’

The tension had broken a little though, and Bucky cocked his head consideringly at me. I returned the favor. Mexican standoff. One of us would have to budge.

Grr. Why does it always have to be me?

I knew why Bucky was so upset, I knew why he’d repaired my house instead of taking time for himself to heal:

It was guilt. Lots and lots of guilt. 

I’d seen it in the hospital when he looked at me. I may have been drugged up to my eyebrows but thinking back later I knew what I’d seen.

And there was guilt in his eyes now. He blamed himself that he hadn’t protected me, blamed himself for everything that had happened since we met. Which was ridiculous. Most of these things had happened with my full knowledge and understanding of the consequences and while I hadn’t enjoyed running into some of those consequences (fuck you, Hydra) I wouldn’t change a single decision I’d made because that would mean turning my back on Bucky.

I’d never do that. 

I loved him.

That wouldn’t keep me from tearing him a new one over his stupid behavior, though.

Although, and it pained me to consider it, that wasn’t what this situation called for. Bucky needed to expiate some guilt and maybe if I put a time limit on it he’d feel better once it was over.

I hoped. 

What? I was running blind here, and there wasn’t time to look for a better option. This one would have to do.

‘I can give you one day,’ I found myself saying. Bucky slowly straightened, keeping his eyes on me. ‘I won’t walk around or do anything for 24 hours. I’ll need a lot of help,’ I warned him as I sighed internally. This was going to smart.

‘Four days.’

You’re dreaming buddy. ‘Two. Tops.’

‘Fine.’ 

We shook on it. Oh man how I wanted to indulge in an operatic sigh right now. ‘But you have to let me do some of my exercises. I need those, Bucky.’ Bucky scrunched up his face but nodded reluctantly. ‘And you’ve got to start eating better. And by that I mean, at all.’

He rolled his eyes at me. I felt like punching him. Hmph. ‘Just how many conditions do you have, anyway?’ he drawled. ‘Seems like I should ask for another day.’

I punched him.

Not _hard_ , the angle was all wrong and I was still pretty weak and exhausted from this corker of a day—but yeah. He totally deserved it. And by the crinkling of one of his very rare smiles, he didn’t mind all that much.

You should be lucky I’m not siccing Steve on you, you’d really be in trouble then with over six feet of angsty Captain America forcing you to eat your vegetables and clean your plate.

(Steve had tried to pull the ‘eat your vegetable’ routine on me one night in the hospital, but I’d forced a piece of “broccoli” into his mouth and after he turned an interesting shade of red and had to seriously force himself to swallow he stopped bothering me. Tony snuck me French fries and told Steve that the potato totally counted as a vegetable. Steve told Tony to remember that he was Irish and knew Damn Well that a potato was a vegetable. That kicked off a very friendly bicker session that lasted almost two hours)

Now that Bucky and I had settled that problem, I was finding it hard to keep myself upright. I wavered, trying to brace myself on the couch back so that I didn’t fall over. Bucky got all concerned and because I’d promised, I didn’t fight him when he eased me into a semi-recumbent position against one of the sofa arms.

‘Can I get you that glass of water now?’ he said drily.

‘Sure. If you get one for yourself too,’ I shot back. 

‘Sir yes sir.’ was his reply. Idiot.

I couldn’t see into the kitchen but I could imagine Bucky studiously ignoring the three unignorably evident men there while getting the both of us some water. Unfortunately I could also imagine Steve’s kicked puppy look at being ignored, so that was the next thing on the list to fix. I’d seen far more of that look than I ever wanted too—it was even more devastating than Sarah Mclachlan commercials. 

It would have to wait until I was feeling better, though. I just didn’t have the energy to do much more right now.

Bucky returned with our waters and I gratefully drained half of mine in one go. I was thirstier than I thought. He slowly sipped his while sitting next to me, as if he drank it slowly enough, I might not notice he wasn’t really drinking it at all. I gave him an unimpressed look to show him he couldn’t fool me and he scowled before defiantly taking a much larger sip.

Ha. That’ll show me.

‘So,’ I said, trying to regain a casual conversation, ‘What were you working on when we got here? I heard the table saw and you’re covered in sawdust.’ Bucky peered down at his shirt like it had betrayed him. Don’t know what you’re angry about, Bucky. I happen to really like the smell of fresh cut wood.

Like a lot.

And sitting this close to him I could smell it come off him in waves that combined his natural scent with the sharp earthiness of the cut wood. It was delicious.

Mmph. Keep it together, Lily.

‘Bookshelves,’ Bucky finally said. Wait, what?

‘Bookshelves?’ I asked curiously. ‘What about my—‘ oh right. My old ones probably weren’t in such good shape anymore. Bucky winced as if it had been his fault they broke. 

In his mind, it probably was. 1. He ran away from Hydra. 2. He stayed at my house. 3. Hydra tracked him to my house. 4. All damage done was his fault for leading them to my house.

I mean, I didn’t agree with his line of logic, but I could understand it. I could even understand what came next: 5. You don’t deserve her forgiveness but fixing everything is the least you can do.

Gah.

That way lay him running away as soon as he’d ‘fixed’ everything and I didn’t ‘need’ him anymore. Which was a bit fat NO if there ever was one.

‘Cool,’ I decided to say. ‘I like bookshelves.’ Bucky snorted half-heartedly. It was kind of a ‘no duh’ noise, but I let it slide. He’d seen my obsessive book-hoarding nature already, my statement didn’t come as a surprise.

Bucky was vibrating with tension still, and I knew I shouldn’t keep him there much longer. He’d stay if I asked him—he had too much guilt to do otherwise—but as much as I wanted to see more of him I’d learned to let Bucky come and go when he felt like it. It worked out better in the end that way.

‘Hey,’ I said softly. ‘Thanks. For all of this.’ I gestured vaguely to the room, but he knew what I meant. His face twitched with some negative emotion. ‘No. Really. I mean it.’ He finally nodded tersely. Good.

‘Now your Queen commands you to go forth and finish building me bookshelves. I have a lot of books.’

Bucky closed his eyes as if my joke caused him physical pain, but if it did hurt it was a semi-good hurt. Some of his tension relaxed and one of his hands caressed my foot gently as he rose.

‘I’ll be okay, Bucky.’ I promised. He nodded, then left.

I could tell my three other visitors were trying to decide whether to follow him, so I called out, ‘Hey, Avengers. Get in here.’

They eased into the living room, each in their own particular way. Sam strolling casually, Steve with a solid swing of his shoulders and a quiet tread, and Tony with an arrogant strut. 

‘So.’ I said inanely. ‘that was kind of awkward.’

‘Are you okay?’ Steve asked seriously.

'What? Me? M’fine. Just a bit tired now.’ I answered honestly. ‘ _He_ is too. So now is not a good time to pester him,’ I narrowed my eyes at Tony. He made ‘who me’ face but I just kept staring at him until he waved a dismissive hand in my direction. Good. That gave Bucky at least a half-hour of grace from that direction.

‘How are you feeling? That was pretty intense.’ Was Sam’s contribution.

‘He’s in uber-guilt mode. He doesn’t always like to listen.’

‘You got that right,’ Steve said. ‘He’s always been stubborn.’

Sam raised his eyebrows at him. ‘That’s a ‘pot’ ‘kettle’ situation if I ever heard of one.’ Steve looked straight at him but his cheeks were definitely flushed.

‘I’m stubborn,’ I said, offended that no one had noticed.

‘We noticed,’ Sam said drily. Oh. Good.

I smiled. Sam and Steve shook their heads with muted laughter. Tony was deliberately ignoring us as he prowled around the room.

‘What the hell is this?’ He said aghast, as he looked at my television screen. It had several bullet holes in it.

‘My TV.’ I said deadpan. Tony turned to make a ‘no duh’ face at me. I guess what with all the other work Bucky had been doing he hadn’t gotten rid of the TV. How rude that he only repaired everything else that was absolutely necessary first.

I think Tony had a different idea of what was absolutely necessary than me, though. He dialed someone on his phone. ‘Hey Jarvis? I have a bit of an emergency situation here. I’ll need a 72” Stark TV sent to my location pronto. What’s wrong with you Jarvis, not that—‘ Tony sighed in exasperation and scrubbed a hand over his face. ‘Gimme the new one. No, the other new one. Right. And throw in the surround sound set, the one here is criminal. It’s actually hurting me to look at, I can’t imagine what it would do to me to listen to it. Love you too, honey.’ He hung up.

Steve was starting at him with a world-weary expression while Sam was trying to pretend like he wasn’t impressed just a little. My eyes were nearly popping out of my head because it’s not every day you have Tony Stark giving your entertainment system a makeover. I mean, he’d been giving me ridiculous things ever since the hospital and if I really thought about it then the small electronic things he’d built me probably had a fairly expensive price tag attached for mere mortals (eek) but say what you want about Tony Stark, he knows how to spend money with style.

I guess it’s all the practice.

‘What?’ He said cavalierly with a shrug. ‘I’m not living like a heathen even if we are in the back end of nowhere.’ He shuddered dramatically.

The three of us tried not to roll our eyes at him. Most of us succeeded.

‘Who’s hungry?’ Sam asked.

‘Starving. What’s to eat in this Podunk town?’

‘Lily gets to pick, she just got out of the hospital,’ Sam said sternly. I do love Sam.

‘I want pizza,’ I said with a smile. Tony made a face but he didn’t seem too broken up about it.

‘What kind?’

‘Plain cheese.’

‘Everything.’ Was Steve’s request.

‘I’m feeling Hawaiian,’ Tony said, and we all turned to stare at him in disgust. ‘Don’t give me that.’

‘What kind of pizza does Bucky like?’ Sam asked.

‘Pepperoni,’ Steve and I said at the same time, then turned to smile at each other.

‘Ugh,’ Tony said. ‘That’s sickening.’

‘Make sure he gets his own,’ I said.’

‘Can do,’ was Sam’s reply. ‘Best place to order from?’

‘Rossini’s. It’s fifteen minutes away, but it’s the best.’

Tony snorted, obviously a commentary about non-New York pizza. Just you wait, Tony. Just you wait.

Tony’s phone rang and he answered it quickly. ‘Pep? I was just—no. No? Definitely not, you know I’d never—we don’t talk about that time, that never happened. I was just—‘ Tony glared at all of us like we’d done whatever it was he was getting blamed for, and then stalked out of the house, the front door slamming behind him. We all shared an ‘ah, Tony’ look.

Sam went back to the kitchen to order the food and I caught Steve staring nobly (read: painfully) out of the windows as the sound of the table saw started up again.

Oh bother. 

‘Hey Steve, c’mere.’ I managed to say. I was fading fast. Steve wasted no time in kneeling by my side.

‘Did you need something, I could—‘

‘No, I’m fine. _Steve_.’ He looked away from me. Oh bother. This whole situation, just—why me? ‘He needs a lot of time to himself.’

Steve nodded quickly, a fake smile pasted on his face, ‘Of course, it’s all right—‘

‘Steve.’ The fake smile fell off. ‘How good are you at building bookshelves?’

A dawning light lit up Steve’s face like he’d just seen heaven. ‘Never built one before. How hard could it be?’ he said in his overly sincere completely Steve tone. But he was clenching his jaw and visibly trying to restrain himself from sprinting out of the room to go outside, so I didn’t want to keep him any longer.

‘Uhuh. Just…be careful, okay?’ I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing for Bucky, sending Steve after him. But if we were all going to be cohabiting for the next little while (I could see Tony leaving as soon as he got what he wanted, whatever that was, but Steve was clearly going to be staying until he was dragged away, and Sam was Steve’s friend so…yeah. Lots of houseguests) then we needed to settle ourselves, and quickly.

Steve covered one of my hands with his own. ‘I will. I promise.’

‘Thanks.’ I let my head fall back against the couch and my eyes fall shut. They cracked open as I felt a blanket being laid over me. ‘’nks,’ I managed to mumble as I drifted off to sleep in my own home, safe and warm.


	29. Chapter 29

I couldn’t have been asleep that long—surely not more than an hour—before I was being gently shook awake to the smell of fresh hot pizza. Bucky was at my side and as I blinked and smiled sleepily at him I noticed he seemed more relaxed than he had earlier. Huh. Maybe sending Steve down to see him wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

‘Hi,’ I said muzzily, not wanting to relinquish the warm blanket of sleep just yet.

‘Hi sleepyhead,’ he said back. He had a heartbreakingly fragile look in his eyes, and his touch against my arm was tentative. ‘If you don’t wake up soon, I think Steve’ll eat all of your pizza.’

Unsure of himself or not, Bucky Barnes is still a Grade A tease.

I snorted. Yawned. ‘Yah, like you’d have nothing to do with it, huh?’

‘Who me? You should have heard his stomach growl—actually, I’m pretty sure you did, must have woken you up wondering where the thunderstorm was.’ There was a bright smirk in his eyes now, and he spoke a little louder to make sure his voice carried to the kitchen.

Steve came around the corner, all mock anger. ‘You know what, Barnes? I am pretty hungry. I _could_ just eat all your pepperoni, you know that, right?’

‘What, and miss out on the chance to eat all your vegetables?’ Bucky muttered under his breath.

‘I heard that,’ Steve shot back as he walked away.

I smiled. Their exchange told me a lot about how things were. They were back to joking with each other a little, which was good—but I could tell the deeper topics were still out of bounds. 

You had to start somewhere, I guess, when you’d been forced apart 70 years ago and then one of you was brainwashed into trying to kill the other. 

Jokes were better than puppy-dog pain and guilt complexes. Oh God yes.

Bucky scooted in a little closer to me. ‘You feeling up for eating at the table, or I could bring you something in here?’ It was clear what he wanted from me, even if he made an effort to keep his tone even. I was tired still, yeah, but the idea of eating at a table like a normal adult person sounded really good right that moment.

Normally I’m all about subverting the ‘normal adult person’ rules, but hey, when your life flips upside down you sometimes feel like ‘normal’ is a comfortable place to stay.

And I’d be at a tableful of Avengers/Supersoldiers/Interesting people. No way was I missing out on this.

So I prepared myself to disappoint Bucky by saying, ‘Table, please.’ There was a quick flash of disgruntlement before he smoothed it away and eased me into his arms. I couldn’t help a small gasp of pain—it had been a long time since my last pain pill.

‘Sorry, sorry—‘ Bucky murmured, upset at himself.

‘S’okay,’ I breathed through a flash of pain. ‘Not your fault. Just time for some more painkillers, yeah?’

Bucky put me down in the chair _even more_ carefully than he had picked me up—if that was even possible. Sam was at our side and he passed the bottle to Bucky who quickly read the instructions on the side and tried to pass me two.

‘Oh no,’ I said firmly. ‘Just one—or even half of one.’

‘Lily—‘

‘I promise I’ll take more when I go to sleep, but if you give me two I’ll pass out right here at the table.’

‘It’s all right, man.’ Bucky’s expression was mulish as Sam put in his two cents. ‘Half of one will take the edge off, if she’s not moving around too much.’

Bucky narrowed his eyes at me. I half shrugged and did my best to look innocent. His expression slipped more into a glare and I rolled my eyes at him. ‘What? I promised, remember? I’m just going to sit here and eat pizza and try to convince you guys to watch a movie later.’

‘Speaking of that!’ Tony burst into the conversation from outside on the porch. ‘Someone with muscles come out here and do some heavy lifting. Jarvis just dropped off the TV—and it doesn’t even come with complimentary bullet holes!’

Steve sighed quietly and pretended to be put upon as he went outside to help Tony, but even I could tell he didn’t mind all that much. Bucky paid all of this absolutely no attention, instead preferring to whip out a knife from somewhere on his body and concentrate on cutting one of my pain pills in half on my plate. He very delicately tipped one half back into the bottle before practically forcing the other half into my mouth. Affronted, I swallowed the gulp of water from the glass he pushed into my lips, pill going down easily.

‘Goodness gracious, Bucky,’ I sputtered after taking a moment to breathe. ‘You don’t need to hand feed me too!’

His only reply was an arching of an eyebrow (with an unspoken, ‘don’t I?’) as he tucked the bottle of pills into a pocket for later. 

Goodness. And I’d thought the nurses at the hospital were pushy. 

Grumble grumble. No pulling any tricks on _him_ —not that I’d been planning on it, but still!

I was perfectly capable of taking my own pills and feeding myself thank you very much Bucky.

But if Bucky didn’t eat almost all his pepperoni pizza I was fully on board with forcing food down _his_ throat, don’cha’know.

Steve walked past, carrying a massive box with the Stark tech logo on the side. Tony trailed along behind, carrying a much smaller box that I assumed to be the sound system. Steve came back into the kitchen immediately and started filling a place with his veggie pizza, but Tony stayed in the living room, happily ripping open the cardboard and muttering to himself.

‘We can drag him out of there in a minute,’ Sam said as he sat down across from me.

‘Good luck,’ Steve said around a mouthful of pizza as he sat down to my left. Bucky gave him a gentle slap upside the back of his head as he put down a plate of cheese pizza in front of me.

‘Don’t talk with your mouthful, Jesus, Rogers, your Ma’ll come back and haunt us.’ 

Steve looked disproportionately happy for a man who just got slapped but he was quick to whine back, ‘But I was hungry, Buck.’

‘Jesus.’ Bucky said despairingly as he sat down heavily on my right, _full_ plate of pepperoni pizza I was happy to see. ‘Thought we broke you of that back in ’29.’

Steve snorted. ‘I wasn’t the one that needed breaking in, Buck. You were always the one cramming all the food in your mouth whenever you got the chance.’

And right there—right there at my kitchen table—I saw exactly the little shit that Bucky Barnes used to be. Because even after 70 years of torture and brainwashing, after barely surviving Hydra’s wrath and his own misfiring brain—I saw Bucky pick up a large slice of pepperoni pizza and slowly, deliberately, cram the whole thing into his mouth while staring Steve down all the while.

Sam whistled and smirked while Steve let out a gasp of surprised laughter and shouted, ‘Jesus, Buck!’ I giggled too, around a bite of my own pizza, but what no one else could see except me because I was close enough, was the way Bucky’s fist shook against his thigh as he played the fool for his oldest and dearest friend, no matter how hard it was for him to do it.

I didn’t want to call attention to it though, so I pretended nothing was the matter as Bucky pretended to smile after he swallowed his massive mouthful of pepperoni pizza.

‘What? What did I miss?’ Tony strolled into the room, picking up the whole box of his Hawaiian pizza and sitting down with it at the table.

‘Figured out you couldn’t lift the TV into place, yet?’ was Bucky’s softly spoken jab.

Tony manfully ignored the hater sitting to his left. ‘You’ve got a crazy set-up there,’ he said to me around mouthfuls of pizza. ‘I counted at least five different connectors, and that jury-rig with the sound system, who the hell would—‘ He jerked and fell quiet in the way that only someone who’s been kicked under the table does. ‘Yeah, so, Rogers, when you’re finished stuffing your face, you or your murder-twin could toss that old set out and lift the new one into place.’

‘TV’s not that heavy,’ I quirk an eyebrow at him. ‘I’ve lifted it before. It’s just big and awkward.’

‘Well, y’see,’ Tony leaned toward me. ‘I _could_ lift it, you’re right. I may not be genetically enhanced,’ and here he flexed his arms, showing off, ‘but I’m pretty good in the muscle department. But when you’ve got the all-american beefcake around, you take advantage of that.’ He said as if imparting the sole sum of earthly wisdom.

‘Shut up,’ Steve said, rolling his eyes.

‘And it keeps him from pining,’ Tony continued on.

‘Tony,’ Steve said warningly.

‘Because do you smell that?’ Tony sniffed the air dramatically. ‘I could swear there’s a forest in here. A _Pine_ forest,’ he drawled out for those of us who might have missed it.

Read: no one.

Bucky stood abruptly from the table and everyone except me flinched slightly. Gotta get used to that, boys. It doesn’t mean he wants to kill you, it mostly just means he’s tired and doesn’t feel like being polite. He sat back down with another plateful of pizza and half-glared at me as he ate it.

Awww. How sweet. Following through on his promise like that. I couldn’t help smiling at him around a much smaller bite of my own pizza.

‘Yeah, the two of you got issues,’ Tony piped up. Everyone around the table turned to stare at him. Even Sam. 

Tony just shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Takes one, and all that.’

I think I was the only person there who didn’t eat almost an entire pizza. Even Sam and Tony decimated theirs, with Steve and Bucky sneaking bits of mine after they finished theirs. I didn’t care. Three pieces had me feeling almost sick from eating—normally I could down half a large cheese pizza in one sitting, but hey. I got shot.

My painkiller had kicked in about halfway through, taking the edge of exactly as Sam had said, but without dragging me down too much. Still, by the time everyone wrapped up eating I was ready for Bucky’s silent jerk of his eyes toward the living room. I nodded. He resituated me on the best couch for movie watching, even though Tony wasn’t done with the set-up yet. I could see his instinct was to fuss over me but he reined himself in and went to help with the clean-up instead, first stopping by the TV and lifting it with one arm and shouldering past Tony as he walked away.

No easing of the tension there.

Tony scoffed to himself as Bucky walked away and Steve lifted the new TV into place.

‘Thanks, sweet-cheeks,’ Tony said irreverently and Steve looked like he was ready to haul off and smack Tony a good one but he resettled his shoulders and walked away instead.

Man, the dynamic doesn’t stop with these guys, does it?

Sam came in and sat near me on a different couch. There were dish-washing noises coming from the kitchen as well as the swipe and clatter of drying them by hand and putting them on the counter.

Steve and Bucky were doing dishes together? I melted a little inside. Bucky had taken to drying dishes whenever we did them together—it had always felt to me like it might have been something he did long ago that worked its way into muscle memory.

It was possible that the reason for that muscle memory was standing by his side again like he had years and years ago.

Oh wow. History. In my kitchen.

‘So what movie do you want to watch?’ Sam asked.

‘I’m not sure.’ I said. ‘I’ve shown Bucky a lot of my animated films, and we did Indiana Jones too—‘

‘Indian Jones two? That one was the worst—‘ Tony stopped his muttering long enough to say loudly.

‘No, not ‘two.’ ‘Too,’ as in ‘as well.’’

‘Oh, huh.’ Tony went back to muttering.

‘And besides, Crystal Skull was much worse.’ I said, unwilling to let that pass.

‘What?’ Tony put a hand to his ear in an overdone mime, ‘I couldn’t hear you—did you say they made another Indiana Jones movie? But with communists and aliens and stupid tree-swinging Shia Lebeouf? Nah, never happened. God my dreams are weird when I drink.’

‘Which is all the time, huh?’ Steve snarked from the kitchen.

‘Shove it, Steve,’ was Tony’s friendly reply.

‘So, movies,’ Sam tried to steer the conversation back on course.

‘Yeah, movies. We’ve been going slow, trying to make sure each one’s a good fit before we start it.’ I was trying to avoid outing Bucky’s PTSD issues and triggers in front of everyone, and it was hard! I couldn’t NOT say something, though, because that would lead to a whole ‘nother type of bad day.

Sam, however, was a true hero and he read between the lines of what I didn’t say. ‘Animated movies, huh? Steve here was working through the Disney backlog for a while.’

‘It’s just incredible what people have done since the 1940’s.’ Steve called out.

‘You seen the Emperor’s New Groove yet?’ Bucky asked quietly, the question barely carrying to the living room.

‘We seen what now?’ Tony poked his head up from a mess of cords to ask.

‘Your biography,’ Bucky’s voice was deadly serious and I had to fling a hand over my mouth to stop the nearly uncontrollable laughter that was trying to break free. Sam’s eyes danced wildly and he smoothed a careful hand over his own face.

Tony glared at the dividing wall between the kitchen and the living room. ‘Mom, Bucky’s being mean again,’ he fake whined at me. Or Sam. It was hard to tell. We both looked at each other and shook our heads with an identical expression of ‘not it.’

Bucky and Steve appeared around the dividing wall, dishes evidently done. ‘I don’t think I have seen that one, Buck.’

Bucky nodded. ‘I’ll go get it.’ He left the room and I could hear him climbing the stairs. He must have stashed my dvds up there during the clean-up. I took a moment to be surprised that they survived all the havoc. Happily surprised, though. 

When he came back down with my two big double folders, Tony gave a surprised, ‘Huh,’ and Sam said, ‘Nice.’

‘I like movies,’ I said shyly. Over the years I had invested a disproportionate amount of my money into books and movies, rather than normal items like clothing and shoes. Bucky shoved the folders into Tony’s arms with a glare then carefully joined me on my couch as if he might not be welcome there. The couches all had a few bullet holes covered by X’s of duct tape, but nobody seemed to mind. I certainly didn’t. 

And it was a real plus to be Bucky’s preferred seating partner. When it was just us we’d both gotten a couch to ourselves. Add in three extra people…

Well. If I was very very lucky Bucky might let me lean on him when I got tired.

Or at least, Tired-er. My nap and the extra painkiller had done me good, but I was nowhere near up to snuff yet.

Steve companionably joined Sam on the other couch and Tony finished up his Mad Genius schtick with a cackle of ‘It’s alive!’ as he turned the TV on. He quickly worked out my alphabetical filing system and put in The Emperor’s New Groove. All the couches were pretty much full but that didn’t seem to bother him as he pulled a chair in from the kitchen and slouched on it like it was going out of style.

Normally I’d be doing my Hostess thing and offering dessert, popcorn, drinks, etc. but I think Bucky would actually sit on me though if I tried to do any of that, so I kept quiet and hoped that everyone there was secure enough to just go and get whatever they wanted.

Ten minutes into the movie and Tony couldn’t keep quiet any longer. ‘Barnes! I resent the implication that this movie in any way resembles—‘

‘Shut up, Tony,’ Steve interrupted. ‘You’re making me miss your biography.’

Tony fake-sputtered with indignation but he did it quietly.

I smiled widely and even Bucky loosened up a bit. He’d seen it before, obviously, but he clearly enjoyed it just as much this time. Occasionally I’d see him looking at Steve instead of at the screen, gauging his enjoyment of the movie. Steve was loving it, of course, and loving all the opportunities it gave him to rag on Tony. Kuzco had just revealed Kuzcotopia and Steve turned very seriously to Tony.

‘Sure doesn’t look anything like you, not at all, Tony, no-sirree.’ 

‘Shut up, Rogers.’

Sam was having the time of his life watching both the movie and the drama taking place in the room around him. 

Bucky mostly contented himself with slightly malicious smirks in Tony’s direction whenever Kuzco did something particularly stupid or obnoxious. 

And me? I loved this movie. I could quote half of it to you right now. But add in recovering from gunshot wounds, a very long emotional day, a full stomach, and a dark cozy room with a familiar movie and you get a very sleepy Lily. 

I leaned closer to Bucky, brushing up against his solid metal arm. He looked over at me and came to a fast decision, half-picking me up while he lay back against the couch arm, situating me on top of himself like he’d done in the hospital. 

Oh.

Now THAT was better. I sighed and felt every muscle in my body relax. Bucky was warm and safe and he smelt like wood-shavings and just a slight taint of sweat. One of his hands settled gently on my unwounded side and I felt myself sighing again.

Best. Day. Ever.

I tried not to let on just how happy this was making me, but I think the way my fingers curled into his shirt and refused to let go gave it away.

It was just—perfect. And I never wanted it to end. 

Every so often I could hear a deep rumble in Bucky’s chest as he laughed quietly to himself. It should have been drowned out by the much louder laughter from the rest of the room but my ear was directly on top of his lungs so I heard it every time.

It occurred to me that maybe Bucky needed this too. Out of all the people in this room my needs/motivations for him were probably the most understandable/easy to deal with. He’d learned my ways and didn’t really have to worry much about me. 

How to care for a Lily? Feed, water, cuddle, and expose to preferred media (books, movies).

Tony, Sam, and Steve? Minefields all, with differing motivations and desires and expectations.

But whether Bucky was only doing this because I was the easiest person to deal with, or for some other unknown reason, I was grateful. 

God! Grateful isn’t even the right word. 

Because as much as it had felt good to see my house again, fixed and everything, I hadn’t feel like I was truly home until right now in Bucky’s arms.

And considering I had no idea how he felt about me? How messed up is that.

But I’m only human, so I held on as tightly as I could manage and did my best to memorize how good it felt, just in case I never got to have this again.

Bucky.

Oh, Bucky.


	30. Interlude III

Laying on the couch with Lily on top of me is simultaneously one of the best and worst things to happen to me in recent memory.

And since most of my clearest memories are VERY recent, that means a whole lot.

It’s just—I’d messed up, messed up bad. Lily’d been kidnapped, tortured, shot—

_Lily_

And it was all my fault, no matter what she said about it.

When I ran away from the hospital (don’t even call it a strategic retreat, you ran away you coward) I hadn’t been able to think of going anywhere but here. Lily’s home. Seeing it half-destroyed and vacant had been like a blow to an already unsteady structure. I’d made sure to contact Laura and Charlie first thing, but after that I felt too drained to do anything but sleep.

I know I should have slept down in the basement bedroom but I couldn’t bring myself to leave Lily’s room. I didn’t even sleep on the bed, just curled up on the floor next to it. It’s not like I slept long anyway, my nightmares being what they were.

Woke up screaming sometime before dawn and didn’t bother going back to sleep. There was too much work to do.

I started with clearing out everything that was broken or damaged, except the furniture. Just put some duct tape on the bullet holes in the couches and hoped that would be good enough for the moment. I used the bullet riddled car as a dumpster, loading it with broken glass and the bullets I dug out of the walls. 

I got down the plaster from the attic where Lily had stored it after the _incident_ with me and my damned arm. I went over the entire house top to bottom, making sure I filled in every hole and crack I could find. Some of the dents were too big for just plaster, so I used one of my knives to cut out that section of drywall and replaced the section with the leftover bits that were in the attic. Lily’s family sure were the saving sorts of people, and something deep down in my blurred memories agreed with their philosophy.

There was a lot to do and not much time to make sure everything could be fixed by the time Lily came home—

Home—

I never ended up going to the grocery store, just ate whatever canned goods I could find in the basement pantry. Everything upstairs had been spoiled.

After the second or third day I stole a laptop from some rich jerk a few towns over who wouldn’t stop hassling a worker at the hardware store I was at. I knew I needed siding and windows and some other things to keep working on the house but the store was too confusing and I didn’t know where to start. So I stole the asshole’s laptop (left it sitting right there in his car, the idiot) and went back to Lily’s to recoup.

There’s far too much information on the internet. Far too much.

But it helped me narrow down on how to replace siding. Windows too. And what I’d need to do it.

Money was almost a problem but I raided a couple low-level Hydra posts so I had cash to spare.

It wasn’t like I was sleeping much anyway.

I kept busy, fixing the house, repainting the walls, even raked the driveway one morning after I woke from a dream where Lily had pushed me back into the chair and watched me scream.

Nearly punched a wall again after that one, but I stopped in time. It wasn’t like I wanted to make more work for myself.

Besides, Lily should be coming home soon.

_Lily_

I never slept in her room again except for that first night—hell, it wasn’t like I was sleeping much at all, but I moved back into the basement. It just didn’t feel right, like I was taking advantage of her while she wasn’t there to say no.

I’d fucked up enough already.

And you’d think that I would have been ready to see her again, after all the work I’d been doing so that she could come back to the house and not see it destroyed. But I’d been working so I didn’t have to think—didn’t want to think—so the sound of the car in the driveway nearly made me grab a gun and start shooting.

But it was Lily—

_Lily_

But she was walking—HELL no she isn’t!

Which touched off one of the more uncomfortable afternoons I could recall. _Including_ the ones where I’d gotten shot. 

Because Steve—

My best buddy, my friend, my brother—

He just couldn’t leave me alone. Which was kind of great, y’know? Even after all I’d done he still wanted to be around me.

But at the same time?

After all I did he still wanted to be around me? Hell no.

Can’t tell him that, though. And he wasn’t even talking, which was the strange part. Just came down back and started working on the bookshelves with me, like we were back in Brooklyn and he was helping me and my parents fix up a room. It felt so normal it _hurt._

And he wanted to talk, boy did he ever. But he just kept swallowing it back like I hadn’t notice he’d opened his mouth and closed it a hundred times.

Jesus. That man.

And Stark—don’t even get me started on him. He’s like a train wreck and fireworks and a tornado all wrapped up in pointy facial hair and sarcasm.

And he would not. Leave. Me. Alone.

Ever.

He came down shortly after Steve did, all pestersome and wandering eyes toward my arm. The metal one, damn it all. 

I’d stolen the tracker-blocker off him at the hospital (too easy, ha) and kept it on me ever since. Just the thought of there being a tracker in my arm made me want to rip it off my body (getitoffgetitoffgetitoff) but the alternative—

Letting someone open it up and work on it like I was back there—

The chair—

NO

It made me want to punch him right in his stupid goatee. WITH the metal arm.

Do you think he’d be happier if I punched him with the metal arm than with the flesh one?

Huh.

I pretended he didn’t exist, and Stark took it hard. Steve tried to play intermediary but that idiot’s always been better punching his way out of problems than settling them calmly. And considering how badly he used to punch, that should tell you something.

But Steve was trying—

_Steve_

And even with Stark hovering around like the world’s most annoying mosquito we managed to get pretty far along with the bookshelves before Sam came out and told us he was going to pick up the pizzas.

That left no one inside with Lily.

Unacceptable.

And as much as I found the man obnoxious he couldn’t do that much damage to Lily while she was sleeping. 

I turned to glare directly in his eyes, a huge change from pretending he didn’t exist. One of his hands tightened like he was wishing for his metal gauntlet weapon. Touch luck, chump.

‘Go look after Lily.’

‘Steve can look after her, and you and I could—‘

I menaced him. He flinched. I grinned—well, it involved teeth, so it almost qualified as a grin.

Stark walked off muttering to himself but Hell at least the man left.

Steve was giving me his disapproving face. Your own fault buddy for choosing such an annoying teammate.

‘He’s going to keep bothering you until he gets to look at your arm,’ it was the first thing Steve had said since he came out here.

I hitched my shoulders. ‘ _My_ arm.’

‘What if he just told you where the tracker was and you took it out yourself?’

What.

Steve? Is that you being reasonable?

Huh.

‘How?’

‘I don’t know—he probably has this scanner thing to do it, he won’t even have to touch it, Buck.’

That was…not a bad thought. But it didn’t do to let Steve know he might have won this round so I grunted and cut up another piece of wood. Damn him, though, he smiled to himself like he knew what I was thinking and started to whistle.

Steve _can’t_ whistle.

I mean, sure, he can whistle enough for the codes we made up back in the war, but a tune?

Forget about it.

Actually wait—I _had_ forgotten about it, and dear Jesus I wish it could have stayed that way.

When Steve warbled on far too long I didn’t bother saying anything, just hooked a foot around his ankle and dumped him in the dirt. He coughed in surprise, narrowed his eyes— _uh-oh_ —and lunged for my calves, knocking me over. 

I panicked for half a second—don’t hurt him, Jesus Christ on the cross, he’s just playing around—and that was long enough for him to think he’d gotten the best of me.

Think again Rogers.

I flipped our positions and yanked one of his feet up behind his back. Stupid sap’s far too flexible though, so instead of fighting the pull he did a complicated roll that ended up with him on top of me again.

Damn it.

I crossed my ankles around his throat and used my weight and his surprise to yank him down. He actually started giggling.

Wait…

A memory nudged at the back of my mind and I let it creep feather-light toward me as Steve and I continued to wrestle. It felt good to be able to push and pull with someone as strong as I was, where it wasn’t a matter of life and death but only had to go on as long as we wanted it to. We ended up rolling on top of the cut pile of wood which was uncomfortable, but neither of us wanted to yield—

-– _get off me, Buck, that’s cheating!_ —

Heh. I remember now.

I feinted a punch at Steve’s face and when he brought up his arms to counter me I dove at the area just below his lower left rib and gently tapped my fingers against it.

‘Augh!’ Steve wheezed as he tried to turn and get away from me.

Not likely. I’ve got you now, Steve.

I continued to tickle him, dancing around his pathetic attempts to get away and the swipes of his over-large arms to stop me.

Ha. I bet you’re missing your shield now, Captain America.

‘Give up?’

‘I could do this all day!’ Steve gasped.

Oh really? Let’s see.

Ooh, I’m not sure my pal Steve was telling the truth on that.

‘Buck, Buck, Buck,’ Steve chanted as he wheezed and laughed and struggled to pull in a full breath. Eventually I shoved him over to one side and flopped on the ground next to him, not out of breath myself but happily breathing deep all the same.

Steve finally managed to steady himself. ‘You, ass!’

‘Punk.’

‘Jerk.’

Our familiar exchange was like a punch in the gut, but it hurt less than it had in the hospital. Too much time had passed for it to be easy. Too many things had happened that he didn’t know about. Too many reasons for him to walk away if he knew—

‘I…I’m glad to have you back, Bucky.’

_Steve._

I pushed myself off the ground and walked back to the bookshelves. There was still so much work to do, I shouldn’t have let myself get distracted—

‘Buck.’ Steve’s voice was low and serious. I threw the piece of wood I was holding onto the ground. It splintered.

‘What do you want to hear, Steve? What is it you’re looking for?’

‘Don’t need to look for anything, my friend’s right here.’

Hell, Steve. Just…hell.

‘I’m not…I know I remember some things but I’m not—you can’t just—‘

‘That doesn’t matter, Buck, not to me—‘

‘It matters the hell to me!’ I yelled at him. ‘Because I’m not that guy anymore, all right? Maybe I never was because I can’t ever remember being as good as you think I am.’

Steve’s face was mulish. Fuck. I was in for it. ‘You mean the kind of guy to look after me all his life no matter how hard I made it? You mean the kind of guy who never made me feel any less no matter how much I pushed him to? You mean the kind of guy who breaks through 70 years of torture and brainwashing and saves my life instead of killing me? You mean the kind of guy who lays his life on the line for that girl up there and works himself half to death to make sure she’s all right? 

‘Because you’ve always been that guy, Buck, and damn you to hell if you can’t see it.’

‘Already been,’ I said numbly. ‘S’not that great.’

Steve winced and huffed out a breath. ‘Jesus, Buck.’ He inched closer to me until he was standing right in front of me.

It hurt to have him this close, to have him thinking like I’d done something good, when all I was trying to do was repay some of the debts I owed. But it was Steve—

_Steve_

And some things I didn’t even think about doing, I just did them—so against my own will I leaned forward and rested my head on his shoulder. He didn’t pull me in tight like I know he wanted to, but he did rest one hand in the middle of my back, digging his fingers into my shirt until I thought he’d rip it.

I inhaled deeply and let it out. The smell of him seemed like it was hard-wired into my brain, settled deeply into place below the pain and the programming of the last 70 years. I took a deep breath again, the familiar tang of Steve’s sweat nudging at my long-ago memories and making me relax involuntarily.

Damn it. Just…damn it all.

‘I missed you, Buck.’ Steve said softly.

‘Missed you too,’ I whispered, half-hoping he wouldn’t hear me even though I knew he would.

‘You’re my family Bucky. You’re all I’ve got.’

Oh Jesus. Steve, no. We’re not going there. I refuse to cry over this.

‘All you’ve got, huh? So…that team you’re always around. They’re not your friends.’

‘Buck—‘

‘Cause I can see what you mean—Sam sure isn’t a friend at all—‘

‘Buck, damn you—‘

‘And that girl you were with when I tried to kill you, she doesn’t care for you at _all_ —‘

‘All right all right, you jerk, you made your point—‘

‘You sure, ‘cause I could keep going…’

Steve shoved me back, half-playfully and half-annoyed. ‘They’re not you, Buck.’

Yeah. And no one’s you either, Stevie. But damn me if I can keep this up any longer. You’ve got to back off a little for me.

I shrugged at him and started to pick up where we left off on the bookcases. Steve huffed in annoyance but he rejoined me without saying anything else, thank Christ.

We weren’t working long before two noises intruded: the sound of a car coming up the drive (Sam returning with Pizza, most likely) and the whine of something racing through the air.

_Missile!_

But before I could run into the house and grab Lily, Steve shook his head quickly and fended me off. ‘It’s okay, it’s just Tony—just one of his suits.’

Suits?

Shit. Right. I saw pictures on the internet of him and his gaudy metal monstrosities.

Hey, if anyone was to talk about metal monstrosities it should be me—I’ve got one for an _arm._

‘What’s it doing?’ I asked Steve instead of finding Stark and putting a couple bullets in him.

‘It must be dropping off the TV he called Jarvis about,’ Steve said with a sigh.

Seriously? The man makes a multi-million dollar metal flying machine that shoots lasers and missiles and who knows what else and he uses like a delivery boy?

I didn’t know whether to be angry or angrily impressed so I settled on angrily stalking up to the front of the house where I found Sam yelling at Stark already.

Huh.

‘I don’t care what you were thinking, Tony! Your suit nearly landed on my car!’

‘It wasn’t going to land on the car—my car by the way—you wouldn’t believe the navigational system the suit has, just because you have to fly your wings manually doesn’t mean the rest of us are stuck in the dark ages—‘

‘Not the point, Tony! Not the point.’

Satisfied that Tony was getting a sufficient ass-kicking, I shouldered past them into the house to see how Lily was doing in all of this mess.

She was still asleep.

_Lily._

Her face was tight like she wasn’t perfectly comfortable, but if she could sleep through what was going on outside she must have been deeply tired.

I stood near the couch and watched her sleep, something easing inside me at the sight of her safe and sound. Talking with Steve had been good—necessary even—but this made me want to relax and tuck her away where nothing bad would ever happen to her again.

Sam finally entered the house with Steve in tow, the two of them bringing in the pizzas. They did smell really good, not that I doubted Lily’s knowledge on who made the best food around here.

So I shook her gently to wake her up and if I thought hearing Steve pour his heart out to me earlier had hurt, it had nothing on the way my insides felt like they’d been stabbed and electrified when I saw her smile sleepily and try to nuzzle closer to my hand before she woke up fully.

Damn it. It felt like getting sucker-punched by Steve—no time to prepare to move with the blow, just the shock and white-out surprise of it.

I managed to recover without her or any of the others noticing, taking refuge in teasing Steve which made him nauseously happy and the others just roll their eyes at us.

I found it hard to concentrate on anything except stuffing as much food as possible in my face, which seemed to make Lily happy, so there was that. It surprised me how hungry I felt and how much I ate—damn her, she was right about my body needing more food that I had been giving it. 

I didn’t growl, although I felt like it.

Take that, Stark.

Steve seemed to get the message that I didn’t want to talk when we did the dishes with each other, but it was a companionable silence all the same. I regained my footing enough to poke fun at Stark but when it was time for the movie to start I lost it all again when I sat next to Lily.

_Lily._

Blissfully unaware of the turmoil writhing in my gut. Sweet, kind, brave, Lily; not one to flinch even when the worst of humanity sits next to her—in fact, can’t stand to be anywhere else.

_Lily._

Who I tried to keep from sitting too close to, but when she wavered and unconsciously started to lean on me halfway through the movie I couldn’t take it anymore.

Damn me to hell but I can’t keep my distance from her.

So here she is, laying on top of me, making this one of the best and worst moments of my life. 

Because I don’t deserve to feel this good—don’t deserve to have someone this sweet and wonderful trust me this much after all that I’ve done—but I don’t have the strength to stay away either.

Fuck me, like I’d ever have the strength. I tried to leave before, but I couldn’t even stay away one day, just circled back around to her like a planet caught in the sun’s gravity. 

I left her at the hospital, but it was only to come here, to her home, to where I knew she’d return and I could see her again.

The only thing that could keep me away would be if she told me to leave and Shit if I know why she hasn’t done that yet.

But she hasn’t.

So I’m still here.

Here with her breathing slowing down and evening out as she falls asleep on top of me, her clenched hands at my sides relaxing and twitching as she slides into dreams.

The others are giving us sidelong looks in between concentrating on the movie, and I don’t know what to do about that. I know they’re thinking about asking me what the hell I think I’m doing, getting close to Lily like this. Steve’s probably disappointed in me and I think Sam and Tony would like to see me gone too, but I can’t make myself let go of her. Not yet.

_Not yet._

The movie ends. Everyone is all jokes and laughter. ‘I’m telling you, there’s no resemblance to me at all—‘ ‘Give it up Tony, accept your destiny, you are a llama.’ ‘Screw you, Sam.’

Everyone is avoiding looking at me. At us. One of my hands curl tighter over Lily to protect her.

From what? Them?

Or me.

_Not yet, not yet, not yet_

It’s time.

I hitch her up my body and sit up carefully, tucking her head into my neck and folding her legs around my waist. She sleeps.

‘Need a hand?’ Steve asks quietly from the side. I shake my head no. Strangely enough, this isn’t the first time I’ve carried Lily to bed.

Her room’s still messy—the product of piles of books without bookshelves and clothes that I wasn’t sure how to sort. But I’d piled all of it out of the way so it was easy to get to the bed. I pull back the covers with one hand and gently lay her down. I’m not sure if she’ll be more comfortable sleeping in different clothes but I don’t want to risk waking her. I do take her shoes off, though, and carefully tuck the blanket in around her.

_I have to keep her safe._

Well, I’ve done a bang-up job of that now, haven’t I?

Guilt tastes raw and churns my stomach into a bitter mess.

I leave her door open a crack to make sure I’ll be able to hear it if she wakes up and needs something.

I go back downstairs to find the three stooges whispering to each other.

Steve looks up, startled. ‘Buck. I—we—‘

‘We were wondering about sleeping arrangements,’ Sam interrupts with a sidelong glance at Steve.

Shit hell and damn, I’ve got to deal with this too?

‘Bed in the basement. Air mattresses for this floor. I’m upstairs.’ I had to sleep close to Lily, and no way was I letting someone else into her parents’ old room. 

‘Great. Good.’ Steve says, pleased. What the hell, Steve. Do you like knowing where you’ll billet that much? ‘Tony can have the bed, Sam and I’ll take the air mattresses.’

‘Hey, what if I want the bed?’ Sam asks, pretending to be aggrieved. 

‘Flip Tony for it,’ is all that Steve says.

‘Haha, no can do, birdman.’ Stark chuckles. ‘Bed is all mine.’

Sam rolls his eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah.’

I go and get the air mattresses. It’s early to turn in, but that’ll keep everyone from poking around upstairs and disturbing Lily. There’s a throbbing in my head that pulses uncomfortably in time with my pulse and rachets up whenever Stark opens his mouth. I end up having to go back upstairs for blankets and pillows and things. You know, like normal people sleep with.

‘Thanks man,’ Sam says as I shove it all in his arms. I grunt in response but he doesn’t take it personally. Sam’s okay.

Tony is staring at me.

‘What?’ I bark.

‘Well thanks very much, grumpy-pants, don’t I get anything to sleep with?’ I show some teeth in a snarl and start to walk past him to the basement, grabbing him by the shirt as I pass to drag him with me.

‘What? Hey! Cap, help!’

Steve can’t save you from this, Stark. You brought this on yourself.

I don’t pull him down the stairs, although the mental image of him bouncing painfully off every step keeps me calm. 

Calmer. Shove off, I’m trying here.

I do trip him toward the fully set up bed and smirk to myself at his choked off ‘Hey!’ as he falls on it. 

‘Good enough for you, Stark?’

‘What, no turn down service? No chocolate on my pillow?’ Stark shifts himself so he looks as if he’s purposefully lounging on the bed, rather than having fallen on it. 

Rolling my eyes would only encourage him. I keep my face blank and turn to leave instead.

‘Hey, Darth Vader, you know that blocker I made up won’t last forever, right?’

Stark always sounds like he’s laughing at someone, but right now he sounds unexpectedly serious, enough so that I stop in my tracks. I cock my head to show I’m listening, even if I don’t turn around.

‘I mean, hey, it’s me, I could easily make a blocker to last forever or at least enough of forever that even an Asgardian might not notice—but I didn’t. Wasn’t planning on needing it for that long. So that tracker you have in your arm—‘

I hiss at him. I’m not proud of it. It does stop him from talking a second. I struggle to find the right words to fill the silence.

‘Steve…’ I can hear Stark perk up behind me when I start talking. ‘…said you could scan my arm. Tell _me_ where the tracker is.’

‘If you mean will I give up the chance to get my hands all over your gorgeous self, then—yeah. Not ideal. But I’ll take it.’ I hear him get off the bed and I turn to see him walk up next to me holding out his hand. ‘Deal?’

Deal? Seriously Stark. You want to shake on this?

His hand doesn’t falter, even after I stare at him for a second or two.

All right, ten seconds. Maybe twenty. I really don’t like him.

I’m reaching out to shake his hand (his expression is insufferably smug, I want to punch it) when chills run down my spine and my head snaps up.

Something’s wrong…

‘Hey, what gives—‘

I shush Stark harshly with a snarl. I need to listen…

A scream shatters the almost quiet of the house and I’m moving so fast I should already be upstairs—

_Lily!_

But time is moving so slowly I feel I’m only moving inches every minute no matter how hard I push—

 _Lily!_

I’m out of the basement and Sam and Steve are almost neck and neck with me even though I had farther to travel but I make it to the stairs first—

_Lily!_

And she’s still screaming—

_No!_

_Lily!_

There’s a gun and a knife in my hand as I crash through her door hard enough to slam it into the wall and leave a massive dent but there’s no one in the room and Lily’s still screaming—

_Lily!_

She’s writhing and screaming and her eyes are open but there’s no one behind them, she’s going to hurt herself, she’s barely healed—

I’m over the bed, I’m holding her down, please Lily, please, don’t do this, you’ll hurt yourself, please—

‘Bucky!’ 

Steve. He’s trying to pull me away from her. I take one hand off long enough to crack him upside the skull for being such an idiot. Lily wrenches herself around strong enough that I can see blood bloom from underneath the bandage on her side. She’s torn the stitches.

_Lily._

She’s still screaming, crying out, ‘No no, stop, no! Please! No—don’t! No!’ It’s far too familiar. She’d said the same things that night she’d dreamt of her family’s death and I ran upstairs to find her screaming and crying and shaking and curled into the tightest ball you wouldn’t think a human could fit into. 

But she’d been healthy then. She could scream and buck and she wouldn’t hurt herself. 

_Lily, no!_

‘Steve!’ I bark. ‘Downstairs, alcohol, now!’ I hear him take off running. Lily forces herself against my hands so strongly I can almost hear her muscles scream with tension over the sound of her own screams. 

This isn’t working.

I climb into the bed and pull her on top of me, trying to hold her tight but not damage her any more. There’s a voice murmuring to her and it takes me a second to realize it’s mine—

‘Easy, Lily, easy. You’re okay. You’re home. You’re safe. It’s okay. You’re home. Easy, easy—‘

Steve takes far too damn long to come back upstairs with the bottle of vodka I stashed in the kitchen. I’d used it to keep my cuts clean and to occasionally chase the taste of nightmares out of my mouth. It doesn’t do much for me anymore, but vodka tastes better than fear. 

She’s crying in my arms, crying and screaming and it isn’t going to stop it isn’t going to stop—

Steve crashes back into the room with the vodka and a small glass. You couldn’t have just brought the bottle, Steve, now get over here. 

‘Hey man, are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Sam is trying to be reasonable. Sam needs to shut up because he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing when it comes to Lily. He doesn’t know her like I do. She’d said this was the only thing that would help. She’d _said._

_Lily._

Steve pours a small amount into a glass and tries to hand it to me but I don’t have a free hand, pal, if I let go of her she’ll rocket right off the bed. He gets with the program and I lever her up into a position where she’s less likely to choke on it but Steve can’t seem to get on with it and he spills half the glass on us when Lily jerks against me.

‘Sorry, sorry,’

Stop saying sorry, Steve, just stop being useless and help me!

Lily won’t let the glass anywhere near her mouth. Her head keeps twisting and turning and even when a little vodka gets in there it just runs straight out again. 

Lily, don’t make me do this—

‘Barnes, I don’t know what you’re trying to do—‘ Sam again.

‘Shut up,’ I growl. I don’t have time to explain. I flip Lily as gently as I can so she’s below me, anchored by my body weight. This frees up my hands so I can grab the refilled glass from Steve and pour some of it down her throat, putting a hand over her mouth and nose so she has to swallow. 

‘Jesus,’ Stark whispers behind me, and I can hear Steve gulp nervously.

Lily does swallow, and then she coughs and wheezes and I let her up so I’m beneath her again, holding her again—

‘I’m so sorry, Lily, I’m so sorry, easy easy, it’ll be all right—‘ It doesn’t take long for her to quiet at least a little bit, enough for me to grab the glass from Steve and force her to take another sip which goes down easier this time. She’s snapping out of it. She’s still crying—great wracking sobs that won’t stop—but she’s stopped flailing and bucking and that’s what matters. 

I keep giving her sips of the vodka until she starts turning her head away. ‘No—s’enough—‘

‘Just a little more,’ I say implacably. Like hell if what she had was enough. I can’t see her face but I can tell that she grimaces her way through another couple sips in between her gasping sobs. Eventually the glass is almost drained and I hand it off to Steve. Lily collapses back into me, still shuddering with tension and fear. 

‘Sam, get the first aid kit,’ Steve says. 

Good thinking. She tore her stitches. She’ll need new bandages. 

I gently rub up and down her arms, whispering to her, holding her, keeping her safe, even from her nightmares. God in heaven, why do you let this happen to her? Why does she have to dream of her family dying, over and over and over, helpless to stop them? Why would you let something like this happen to her?

‘Bucky,’ Lily whispers, and a fresh round of sobs tear through her.

‘I’m here, you’re okay—‘

‘No! Bucky!’

‘Easy, Lily, it’s okay. I’m here, you’re—‘

‘No, don’t! Bucky, please—‘

‘What’s wrong, Lily, tell me, what’s wrong?’ Jesus Christ on the cross what the hell is happening?

‘You’re dead!’ She cries out, and the entire room freezes. None of us know what to say. ‘Please, don’t be dead—please! Bucky!’ She starts to fight me again.

‘No, Lily, I’m not…I’m not dead. I’m not. I’m right here.’ I run my hands across her arms a little harder, desperate to break through whatever nightmare still has her in its grasp. ‘I’m right here.’

‘Bucky?’ Lily weeps.

‘Yes, I’m here. It’s okay. I’m right here.’ She cries out and tries to turn over. Sam’s back in the room and I want him to take a look at her side, but Lily is desperate to turn over, desperate to see me and I can’t deny her anything.

Steve helps me ease her onto her stomach on top of me and she clings to me like she’d given up hope of ever seeing me again. Nausea curls through my stomach and I want to cling to her too. ‘Easy, easy. See? I’m right here.’ I murmur.

‘Bucky. You—you were dead. You were dead and I couldn’t stop it. The guns jammed and I couldn’t—there were too many and I couldn’t—you were dead! You were dead and the guns jammed and I couldn’t—‘ I hold her tighter in my arms because she’s shaking like a leaf now.

I feel tears gathering behind my eyes. She wasn’t dreaming about the death of her family—she was dreaming about me? She was panicked about losing me?

‘Shh, shh. You’re okay. We’re okay. Shh…’ I stroke her hair away from her face and rock her as much as I can. Lily shakes her head and tries to burrow deeper into me. I hum deep in my throat, trying for the deepest rumble I can manage. I’d noticed that she always seemed to calm down when I did that. It works now, too. ‘Easy, Lily…easy…’

She’s almost stopped shaking now and I jerk my head for Sam to come closer. He changes places with Steve at the bedside. 

‘Lily,’ I murmur. ‘I’m gonna have to turn you over now—‘ she starts to shake her head and she clings tighter, ‘it’s okay, I’m not going anywhere, but Sam needs to look at your stitches, all right? I’m okay, I’m right here. It’s okay…’ Lily loosens her grip enough for me to gently turn her over. She whimpers. I want to snatch her away from Sam and find a place for the two of us to hide where the world won’t find us. 

What has the world ever done for the two of us, anyway?

Sam’s good though. Gentle, firm, and focused on doing what he needs to do as quickly as possible. 

‘She tore the skin a little, but the stitches are still okay,’ he says as he tapes new bandages over her side. ‘I want to check the other ones.’ He warns. I nod. I shift us closer to the edge of the bed so Sam doesn’t have to lean as far to check on her left arm. There’s no damage there, and when we awkwardly pull Lily’s pants down to check on her leg, that’s okay too. 

She’s starting to shake again, and the pain’s hitting her as the adrenaline wears off. 

I pull her pills out of my pocket. ‘Water,’ I say to Steve as I shake them meaningfully.

‘Hey, no,’ Sam says. ‘Don’t mix narcotics and alcohol. That’s paramedics 101.’

‘She hasn’t had enough for it to matter,’ Stark unexpectedly speaks up. Sam and I look at him. ‘What? Misspent youth.’

Steve comes back with the water and against Sam’s clear reluctance I give Lily two pills. Knock her out? Hell yeah. She downs them fairly easily and I’m quick to pull her back into position which she relaxes into with a catch in her breathing—relief or just the lingering remnants of her nightmare, who the fuck can tell?

Stark wanders off at this point, but Sam and Steve keep vigil until her breathing slows and she’s passed out in my arms. That’s clearly the signal they were waiting for because Steve speaks up.

‘How did you know to do that?’

Hell, Steve. Really? We’re doing this now?

‘Happened before. Not as bad. She…told me what to do. Said later it was the only thing that worked.’

‘She had nightmares like this before Hydra kidnapped her?’ Sam asked.

Damn you Sam, this is private stuff. Can’t you leave it alone? ‘Yes,’ I growl unhelpfully. 

‘I’m not trying to pry, I’m just trying to get a clearer picture.’ Sam holds his hands out in a conciliatory gesture. Back off.

‘Sam’s good at this kind of thing, Buck.’ Steve says quietly. ‘It’s what he does.’

I tighten my arms around Lily. Taking his side now, Steve? Damn it.

‘She—it was about her family. Dying.’ I say reluctantly. Sam and Steve share a look.

‘Okay.’ Sam says calmly. ‘She gonna be okay now?’ 

I nod shortly. I’m not leaving her, so yeah. 

A stray thought flickers through my mind. ‘I’m staying here. Steve—you can take the other bed up here.’ I don’t like the thought of someone else in her parent’s room, but out of anyone I know Steve will be respectful.

‘Okay.’ He says. ‘I’ll get my stuff. Do you need anything?’

I shake my head. We’re good.

Steve and Sam nod, and pull the door mostly shut. It wobbles on its hinges and I make a note that now I’ve got another thing to fix.

Lily twitches in her sleep and I smooth a hand across her back, careful not to pull at her healing skin.

_Lily. Oh, Lily._

How much more will this world try and take from you?

How much more will I take from you?

_Lily._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually don't put notes in, but I thought the end of this chapter warranted it: I do not support taking narcotics while drinking. This is a very bad and dangerous thing to do. It can easily kill you--easily. Yes, the pleasant effect of both the alcohol and the narcotics is magnified (which is why people do it) but the negative side effects are also magnified. And since both of those things are technically poisons, it's very easy to overdose and kill yourself. For the purpose of this fic I have my characters engaging in some unsafe behavior that works out okay for them--but they're fictional and I can make sure they don't suffer the all too real consequences that can occur. Tony says that Lily didn't have enough alcohol in her system for the magnifying effects of the combination with narcotics to matter--and while my research has told me that in small amounts such a combination isn't fatal, it's still dangerous and honestly more people should just listen to Sam and not do stupid things.
> 
> So please: don't take your prescription drugs and drink at the same time. The Doctors aren't just being killjoys--they are actually trying to save your life.


	31. Chapter 31

Waking up hurt.

And not in the way I’d expect it to hurt: the I-got-shot-three-times-a-week-ago kind of hurt.

No, this was more of an I-got-hit-by-a-truck-last-night-but-somehow-I’m-waking-up-in-my-bed kind of hurt.

Ow.

It’s not like I’d forgotten what happened last night—if only I could forget nights like that—but I didn’t think it would _hurt_ like this.

I couldn’t even sit up. I know. I tried.

After wincing back into my pillows in defeat it occurred to me that I was alone. Which was a bit odd, you know? After a night like the last I almost would have expected to wake up to Bucky glaring at me in concern by my bedside and then proceeding to shovel two more pills in my mouth making me sleep the day away.

Not that I’m complaining.

I’m not really complaining.

All right so maybe I’m complaining a little bit.

Because as disjointed and wobbly as my memory of last night was, I distinctly remember falling asleep again on top of Bucky. (my favorite spot, shhh) So where was Bucky now?

And I kinda had to pee and even without my promise not to move under my own power, I really didn’t think I could make it to the bathroom on my own. Which was just a downer, honestly.

There was one thing I could try and although it promised to be far more embarrassing than I wanted, I was pretty sure it was my only option.

‘Bucky?’ I said into the emptiness of my room. I didn’t say it loudly—this was sooo embarrassing, and I’d almost prefer him not hearing me, to him hearing me.

One short ‘rustle thump thump thump’ later Bucky was standing in my doorway.

‘Lily. Are you all right? Are you okay?’ He rushed to the bed, face blank but eyes worried.

Oh. Don’t worry about me that much, Bucky. I’m okay, really!

‘M’fine.’ I yawned. Oops. ‘Kinda have to use the bathroom, though. And I feel like I got hit by a truck.’ I put a questioning lilt onto the end of the statement but Bucky ignored it in favor of lifting me as carefully as he was capable of and gliding to the bathroom.

Once we were there I knew I’d have to set up some boundaries like I had with Steve back in the hospital. 

‘Okay. That’s good,’ I said when we were standing by the toilet.

Bucky looked down at me, his eyes narrowed as if calculating how much he could get away with here.

Not much, boy-o. I might not feel awesome but I am up to the task of pulling my own pants off and pulling them back up again so kindly take yourself off behind the door. Please.

‘Stand me up right here,’ I continued as if I hadn’t noticed him giving me the eye. ‘I promise not to go anywhere, and I promise I’ll call for you once I’m done. Just wait right outside the door in case I need you.’ I put that in so he would feel useful even though I’d rather tear a stitch than have someone haul me off the toilet with my underwear around my ankles.

Gah.

Bucky put me down but he did his equivalent of wringing his hands, which on him looked like ultra stillness and slightly menacing looming. Awww.

I smiled at him, doing my best to hide how much it hurt just to stand there. I don’t think I fooled him but he backed away and unhappily shut the door, going not one inch further I was sure.

Sweet AND bothersome all at the same time. Lucky me.

No I’m serious. Lucky me.

So I’ll spare you the exact details of what happened next, just rest assured there was some silent gasping and definite awkwardness where I almost couldn’t lever myself up off the toilet seat and had to contemplate calling Bucky in. The horror that thought engendered gave me the extra oomph to stand up and put my pants back in order.

‘I’m done!’ I called out as I flushed the toilet. Bucky wasted no time in opening up the door and forestalled my longing glances at the nearby sink by picking me up again and putting me down next to it. Goodness. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed that I had to do this.

The situation probably wasn’t helped by what happened last night.

Bother.

But maybe looking after me is making Bucky feel all that much better?

Maybe?

 _Someone_ better be getting something out of this, that’s all I can say.

‘Downstairs?’ Bucky asked when he had me in his arms again (swoon).

‘I—‘ oh bother, ‘should probably change clothes first.’ I said disheartened. This wasn’t going to be fun.

Bucky nodded and brought me back to the bedroom. He put me down sitting up (!!) at the edge of the bed and then stood there as if waiting for orders.

Oh, right. Clothes. Most/all of them seemed to be piled on my floor (insert middle finger here aimed towards Hydra) so I just pointed to likely piles and Bucky brought me what I asked for. T-shirts and sweatpants; it was that kind of month I was thinking.

Bucky didn’t leave though, once he’d passed me my clothes. I leveled him an unimpressed look. ‘Just give me a minute,’ I said fairly mildly all things considered.

Bucky huffed—huffed!—and went to stand with his back to the open door of my room. Seriously? Ugh.

The pants were the most awkward part—bending was not my friend—but the sweatpants were loose enough that I didn’t have to worry about getting my feet caught inside them. 

I kept an eye on Bucky as often as I could. He shifted anxiously a couple times when I struggled with my pants and had to breathe around the pain that brought, but he didn’t move. Thank God. 

Finally I was dressed in fresh clothes and my slightly out of breath ‘I’m done,’ brought Bucky anxiously back to my side. 

‘Breakfast?’ he asked.

‘Yes please. Should probably eat something before my next dose.’ Bucky nodded and then swoop! I was in his arms again. I wish I could say that I chose to lean all my weight against him and melt onto his chest, but honestly I was just that tired already and I hadn’t even done anything!

Grr.

Downstairs my kitchen was the liveliest it had been in…a long time. Sam was making up pancakes like there was a famine (Steve was eating them like he’d been in a famine), Tony was waving around a half-eaten rolled up pancake while pontificating about some science-y thing, or maybe it was a corporate grudge? Hard to tell. Sam just uh-huh’d and mm’d and shoved Tony out of the way when he got too close to the pancake production line.

Bucky put me down at the table next to Steve, who nearly choked on his mouthful trying to swallow it fast enough to say, ‘Good morning! How—how are you?’ He was trying for subtlety but missed it by a mile.

‘Better.’ I said. I didn’t really want to go into all that just yet (ever, let’s be honest) and Steve was nice enough to let it go. 

From the look Bucky was giving me, though, ‘letting it go’ wasn’t in the cards for him. 

Le sigh.

Bucky left only long enough to bring me a plate of pancakes and a glass of water. Then he went back to the stove and studiously ignored Sam’s yelps and protests as he rearranged the burners so that a front one was unoccupied. He then proceeded to make enough eggs to feed all the starving people that Sam’s pancakes hadn’t reached. 

I was having trouble finishing up the plate of pancakes that Bucky had already brought me when he plopped down a full bowl of eggs next to me.

I eyed it dubiously. ‘Bucky? I think you meant to put that one down where you’re sitting.’

Bucky looked belligerent. ‘You need to eat.’

I shot a quick look at Steve who was happily shoveling another load of pancakes in his mouth but looked longingly at my bowl of eggs anyway. I sighed, scraped a small amount of eggs from the bowl onto my plate, then put the bowl squarely in front of Steve.

‘No.’ Bucky growled, grabbing the bowl and putting it back in front of me. Steve looked like he was trying not to laugh but there was a tinge of disappointment to it as he looked at the now further away bowl of eggs.

‘Yes.’ I pleasantly said back as I pushed the bowl of eggs toward Steve, who wasted no time in putting some onto his plate in case the bowl would be taken away again.

‘Lily—‘

‘Where’s your plate, Bucky?’ I cut him off. ‘Did you eat already?’ My tone was solicitously sharp and I was prepared to take no prisoners. Bucky’s eyes shifted guiltily. Aha.

Sam interrupted all of us by dumping a huge plate of pancakes in front of the open chair next to me and saying, ‘That should just about hold you, Barnes.’ I’m not kidding when I say that the stack of pancakes was at least a foot tall. We all turned to watch Sam return to the stove, whistling all the while. 

We turned back to look at each other, wide-eyed and a little bit afraid of Sam Wilson. I’m pretty sure I was the first to snort in laughter, but it was closely followed by a huge guffaw out of Steve and even Bucky rolled his eyes and sat heavily next to me instead of arguing. He glared at the pile of pancakes like he was looking forward to dismembering them as painfully as possible. Steve nudged the syrup towards him. I smiled. Bucky’s always had a sweet tooth, I guess.

My eggs weren’t piping hot anymore, but they were still delicious. Sam joined us with his own smaller plate of pancakes and eggs that had been politely left for him in the pan. Tony continued to pace around the kitchen, occasionally stealing food off of someone’s plate. (he tried to take one of Bucky’s pancakes but he nearly got impaled with a fork. He complained loudly but Bucky just leaned back in his chair and licked up the fork as menacingly as he was capable of. After a faux-disgusted/mostly terrified look, Tony moved on to stealing Sam’s pancakes).

It occurred to me, about halfway through the meal, that last night I’d gotten the impression that there wasn’t any food in the house—so where had the eggs and the milk to make the pancakes come from?

‘Did someone go shopping this morning?’ I asked, bewildered. I hadn’t slept in that late, I thought.

Sam mm’d in acknowledgement before swallowing. ‘Steve and I made a run after we saw that all your fridge had was a lot of condiments.’ He wasn’t quite looking at Bucky when he said it, but it hadn’t taken me long to realize that Sam worried about everyone who came into his sphere of influence, and it obviously bothered him that Bucky hadn’t been eating right before we got there.

‘What did you get?’ I asked in curiosity.

‘Well, Captain Vegetable stocked you up pretty well,’ Sam teased and Steve just huffed in exasperation at him. ‘But mostly just the basics. A lot of the basics. We’re not exactly friends with any light eaters, y’know?’

I smirked at Sam and he smirked back. Bucky’s ginormous plate of pancakes was almost gone and he was only just starting to slow down. I gave some thought ahead to dinner. I knew I wasn’t going to be allowed to cook anything, but it went against all my instincts to eat take-out two nights in a row when I had guests over. I suppose maybe someone would step up and make something instead—but I kind of doubted it. Sam seemed like the only one who was truly comfortable in the kitchen and he’d already cooked breakfast.

‘What kind of vegetables do we have?’ I asked, an idea forming in my head.

‘Lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, beets—‘ Steve listed.

‘Beets?’ I asked. Sam just rolled his eyes and Steve soldiered on.

‘Corn on the cob, peppers, onions—although those aren’t in the fridge—and Sam insisted on fresh garlic—‘

‘Hell yeah,’ Sam muttered.

‘I think that’s about it,’ Steve finished with a look of concentration.

‘Any celery?’ I tried to ask without sounding like I’d be upset if there weren’t any.

‘No,’ Steve said with a slightly disappointed-in-myself-but-I-can-do-better kind of tone, ‘But the store’s not far away, I didn’t think to—‘

‘No no! It’s all right,’ I said quickly. Making Steve feel bad was the worst. 

‘But if you want it for something,’ Steve said doggedly.

‘Well, I guess—I was just thinking of making soup for dinner—‘

Bucky made a disapproving grumble around his last mouthful of pancakes and suddenly two small pills just _appeared_ out of _nowhere_ next to my plate. I rolled my eyes at him and continued.

‘Soup that I can _supervise_ the making of,’ I said pointedly, ‘and it’s really good with celery. Oh! But was the freezer downstairs okay?’ I finally thought to ask. Because if Hydra had destroyed the downstairs pantry too…grr…more shopping would be needed for the soup.

Bucky nodded seriously at me in confirmation and Steve and Sam traded a look that said something like, ‘an extra freezer downstairs? Why didn’t we know about this??’

‘…Okay, good. If someone willing to go get the chicken that’s down there we can defrost it and make chicken soup. And maybe matzo balls, if whoever’s actually doing the leg-work is up for it.’

Bucky actually softened into dreamy-eyed contemplation after I mentioned making chicken soup and matzo balls, and I smiled as I remembered making it one of his first days at the house. I’m still not certain if he heated his up or ate it cold out of the leftover dish, but obviously he had fond memories of it.

Steve cleared his throat with an awfully fake cough. ‘So, umm, it’s that good, Buck?’

Bucky snapped out of it long enough to say very seriously, with great weight and sincerity, ‘Mrs. Rosenstein.’

‘Ohhh,’ Steve said in awe.

‘What? What. Who’s Mrs. Rosenstein?’ Tony decided to join the conversation again.

‘We lived two floors up from her in Brooklyn,’ Steve said with a small smile on his face. Happy memories.

‘Always had fresh Challah on Fridays,’ Bucky put in.

‘Even made us an extra loaf, sometimes.’ Steve continued, eager for any possibility of a shared memory with Bucky. ‘But the soup—‘

‘You were always getting sick,’ Bucky accused, more upset at the situation than at Steve. 

‘Sometimes she’d give us some soup—‘

‘Give _you_ some soup—‘

‘Give _us_ some soup, and it tasted like nothing else. I mean, Brooklyn was full of Jewish Delis. Couldn’t go a couple of blocks without someone making some chicken soup and matzo balls—but Mrs. Rosenstein’s was something else.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Tony drawled, pretending to be bored with the history lesson. ‘Great stuff. Love a good deli—can’t be as good as what you get at 2nd Avenue. I took you there, right, Steve? It was great, you loved it. Ate half their meat selection.’ Tony was deliberately trying to needle Steve—probably just for funsies—and I could see Steve doing his best not to rise to the bait.

‘I don’t remember—was that the one where you got thrown out for flirting with the owner’s wife, or the one where you accidentally let the stray dog into the back room and had to pay for the whole place to be professionally cleaned?’ Steve said it innocently enough, but he wasn’t fooling anyone in my kitchen.

‘Hmph.’ Tony said. ‘ _This_ is why I don’t do nice things for people. I let you stay in my home—‘

‘You practically kidnapped me,’ Steve muttered.

‘Give you your own floor that you’re constantly moping around—‘

‘I do not.’

‘Let you break the gym equipment whenever you feel like it—‘

‘Tony.’

‘Take you nice places with the best food in New York, and all I get is sass! Sass, I tell you!’

‘He’s not very bright, is he?’ Sam false-whispered to me across the table, side-eyeing Tony.

‘Wilson! That’s it. No more wings for you!’

‘I mean,’ Sam drawled, ‘It only took me…oh…point two seconds to come to grips with Steve’s sass.’

‘That long, huh? I must be getting sloppy.’ Steve shook his head.

The two little pills had migrated even closer to me. I took one and swallowed it.

Is that what you were looking for, Bucky? Fine, I’m all drugged up again.

Bucky glared at me, and the other little pill seemed to agree with him. I valiantly ignored both of them.

‘So who wants to make soup with me? Most of it’s just letting it sit and boil. Recipe’s pretty simple. Chicken, two to three carrots, two to three celery sticks, medium sized onion, and lots of dill. Maybe some basil.

‘Basil?’ Sam raised an eyebrow.

‘Basil.’ I said firmly.

‘If we’re going to the store should I get some fresh?’

‘Ohhh, fresh…’ I practically salivated.

‘Uh-huh, well,’ Sam laugh/coughed, ‘Guess that answers that. What do you say, Steve? Want to go out again?’

‘Well, I was thinking of getting some more work done on the bookshelves,’ Steve said with a certain level of disinterested hope in his voice and a look at Bucky.

‘Just don’t slow me down, Rogers.’ Bucky said flatly and Steve beamed at him.

Oh Steve.

‘Yes yes, good, bookshelves, soup—but Metallica and I never got to seal the deal last night, so what do you say, you up for a little repair work first?’ Tony raised his eyebrows at Bucky who looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. 

Bucky wasn’t murdering Tony for suggesting his arm needed looking at?

Bucky was going to let Tony look at his arm?

‘Outside.’ Was Bucky’s reluctant answer.

‘Incredible. Awesome. Gotcha covered.’ Tony rushed off to presumably gather what he needed.

‘Bucky,’ I said softly, and Sam and Steve quickly left the table to the two of us, taking their dirty dishes with them. It was more of an illusion of privacy than the real thing, but it was a nice thought anyway. ‘Do you—should I—‘

Bucky was shaking his head. ‘No. No, I…’ He scowled off to the side, fighting for the words to say. ‘I need you in here.’

‘Okay.’

Okay. I can do that. I can be safe while you do this.

Bucky stood, all quick motion and restless eyes. ‘Couch or bed?’ he asked.

‘Couch.’ Life was far too interesting now to spend it stuck in my bedroom.

Bucky nodded and then moved me into the living room. He fussed for a moment, making sure a blanket was in reach (it was August), that I had plenty of pillows and all the remotes were nearby. He even prominently placed my pain pills on the end table next to the couch and it made me smile. His answering smile was mostly just in his eyes, but it was there.

Bucky. I wanted to reach out to him, hug him, promise him that everything was going to be okay—

Was everything going to be okay?

And what do you say to your spysassin supersoldier houseguest who’s more of a friend than a stranger and who I was horribly in love with and had no idea how he really felt about me? (except for guilt. There was a lot of guilt)

He wanted me safe. I could do that. I could sit here and be safe while he wrestled with his demons. Seemed like I’d been doing that a lot—sitting back and being safe while he tried to take care of things.

But this wasn’t a hill I wanted to die on—at least, not at the moment.

Bucky hadn’t left my side yet. He was clearly reluctant to go outside and do whatever Tony wanted of him, and his hand pressed into the couch by my side as if it was the only thing keeping him from flying apart.

I risked a gentle touch, just a brush of our hands. I wasn’t sure how he’d react to me trying to comfort him. Pretty okay, as it turned out. He just looked up at me with those complicated eyes of his and I felt brave enough to rest my hand fully on his. It tightened, then relaxed, warm and solid underneath my own. 

‘Sam will stay with you,’ Bucky said with that gravelly tone in his voice that came out whenever he was tired or upset or angry. ‘If you need anything—‘

‘I’ll be okay. I promise. I won’t do anything.’

Bucky nodded, his hand turning underneath mine to give me a quick squeeze before he stood. 

Sam was standing between the living room and the kitchen. ‘I’ll be here,’ he promised. I couldn’t see Bucky’s face but it was probably at least mildly approving. Sam was good people, and solid to boot.

Bucky went into the kitchen and I could hear him open the front door. There was a pause.

‘What are you waiting for, Steve, an engraved invitation?’ The door shut behind him but it opened and shut again quickly, Steve clearly eager to follow wherever Bucky went. It was almost funny, but I didn’t feel like laughing. 

‘So this chicken. It’s in the freezer downstairs?’ Sam asked.

‘Yeah. Straight down the stairs into the pantry. Should be on the bottom shelf or two in the freezer.’

‘Got it.’ Sam was the man for the job, not taking very long at all to go downstairs and come back up with the chicken. ‘I guess if we want to use this today we’re gonna have to do some defrosting.’

I smiled. ‘The large pot is in the underneath cabinet to the left of the sink. I think they say to defrost meat in cold water.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Sam’s voice drifted in from the kitchen. ‘So the meat doesn’t cook on the outside and go bad. Got it!’ I heard the faucet running into the pot for a minute, then it shut off and the water sloshed loudly as Sam put the chicken in. ‘Man, that’s cold.’

‘The freezer downstairs is a little strong.’ I admitted. ‘It’ll probably defrost enough in a couple of hours so we can start the soup.’

‘Fine by me,’ Sam said as he re-entered the living room and sat down on the couch nearby. ‘That way there’s no rush on the shopping trip.’

‘No, I guess not.’ 

Silence with Sam has always been fairly comfortable. He’s a chatty sort of person, but not annoyingly so, you know? He knows how to be quiet. Right now though, the silence had an awkward tinge that I was accustomed to feeling when someone had something they wanted to say but weren’t sure how to start.

Boy was I familiar with that feeling. Usually, I was the one feeling it, but hey. Equal awkwardness opportunities for everybody!

‘It’s okay Sam,’ I finally said. ‘You can just spit it out. I’ll probably be okay.’ My painkillers were finally kicking in and the cessation of the constant mid-level pain I’d been feeling since I woke up was making me feel just a bit floaty. It was nice.

‘It’s not really about what I want to say,’ Sam said quietly. ‘but more about what you’d feel comfortable telling me. You’ve been through a lot of rough stuff recently, and that’s not easy to deal with. Seems like you’ve just been thrown from one bad situation to the next.’

I huffed. ‘Yeah. Sort of.’ It had been a pretty crazy month. It had been a pretty hard last four months. 

‘I told you I worked at the VA, before I signed up to fight the good fight with Cap?’ I nodded. ‘I’ve heard a lot of stories, seen a lot of damage. And everyone carries it differently, you know? Even if the ‘same’ thing happened to two different people, it never looks the same. 

‘Some folks feel so much they can’t keep it inside. They have to fight and push and scream just to feel close to okay again. Others, they tuck it down deep where no one can see it, not wanting to feel it at all.’

My heart beat a little faster. My breath came deeper. Sam was good—he was really good—but I knew what he was leading up to. It scared me.

‘If there’s one thing this world’s still not good at—it’s letting people be not okay. We’ve always got to be okay, you know? People ask you how you are, you gotta say fine, great, good. No one wants to hear that it’s a bad day, that you’d rather stay in bed, that all you can stomach to eat is saltines for the last three days. We all say fine, I’m doing fine. And even when we know the other person’s lying, we don’t say much. Because most of us? We don’t want to know that someone’s not fine. That they’re not okay. Because most of the time we’re not okay either, and the thought of having to help someone else who’s not okay is just too damn much.

‘So we’re all okay. We’re all just fine.’

I couldn’t keep my breathing steady. I felt like I was on the verge of crying, just ugly horrible sobs. It was all I could do to keep myself from breaking apart, the last thing I wanted to do was break apart. Too much pressure on the dam, it was going to crack—

‘So this is me. Asking you for real, Lily.

‘How’re you doing?’

I broke. The dam cracked, water spilled out and I couldn’t stop the sob that caught in my throat. I hugged my arms to myself as tightly as I could but I knew it wouldn’t make me feel much better.

There wasn’t much that could make me feel better.

Sam waited patiently on the couch nearby. I don’t like crying in front of people because it’s awkward and I always feel like I’m being judged. 

Sam didn’t feel judgey. Our comfortable silence was back, only slightly disrupted by my uncontrollable sobs and heaving breaths.

‘I’m—I’m—‘ I tried to say. Sam shook his head at me, silently told me to take my time. It didn’t matter how long it took. He’d be there.

‘I’m not okay, Sam.’ I finally managed to force out between my sobs. ‘I’m not okay.’


	32. Chapter 32

Spilled guts are never pretty—even when it’s only verbally.

Sam had known the rough outline of everything that had happened to me—now I told him everything.

Everything.

About my family. About my dreams of them dying. About my self-loathing and despair and utter helplessness to do anything except stay in the house and do my best not to fall to complete pieces.

I told him about Bucky. How having him in my life made things…not easy, not better—but good? It was nice having something good in my life again. 

I think Sam understood more than I said about my true feelings for Bucky but he didn’t force me to talk about it. I wasn’t sure if that was because he approved, or because he really was just that good a therapist he wasn’t going to push me on something I wasn’t ready to talk about. 

I hoped it was the former, but eh. I’d settle for the latter.

I cried a lot. An embarrassing amount, really. Sam kept me well-supplied with tissues and glasses of water and by the end of it I felt so drained I was shaking just the tiniest bit.

Now that my excess of emotion had died down I wasn’t sure if what I’d done was a good idea. Telling Sam everything like that—it was dangerous. What if he didn’t approve of what I’d done? What if he didn’t think I was stable enough for Bucky to be around? What if—

‘That’s one hell of a story, Lily, and you’re one hell of a woman—you know that, right?’

I smiled feebly at him. I wanted another drink of water but my hands were shaking too much to hold the glass steady. I’d been talking for nearly an hour and I just wanted it all to be over with.

‘No, I mean it.’ Sam said seriously, leaning in toward me. ‘I don’t care what people say, no one deals with that much loss quickly or easily. It cuts your legs out from under you and then you’ve got all these people asking why you’re not walking places.’

I snorted. Sam got it in one. Man, he was good. Could I keep him? Like, maybe not for everyday usage, but for special occasions and holidays?

‘And I know you left some things out about what happened with Bucky—and that’s okay, you’re protecting his privacy, the man deserves a whole lot more of that. But from what you’ve said and what I’ve seen from him?

‘You did it right. You did it right.’

I shook my head, wanting to object. Did it right? Did Sam not even listen to what I said? All the things I’d done to set Bucky off, all the ways I’d meddled and pushed or backed off too much and been too disinterested—

Did it right?

The only thing I did right was promise to look after Bucky as best as I could. And I had the bullet holes to prove I at least did that much.

‘Nuh-uh,’ Sam said. ‘Listen to me, Lily. You found a man at the end of his rope. He was dangerous and most ‘professionals’ would have run away screaming if he came to them for help. You gave him what he needed—space and time and safety and trust. All the years I’ve been doing this, I know you can’t do more than that. You can’t force people to recover and look after themselves, you can’t force people to be someone you want them to be, someone they used to be.

‘All you can do is be a steady place to stand while they do the sorting out themselves. And you were. You got it?’

I nodded tearily. Sam just kept making me cry it was so unfair. 

‘Good. Now let’s get you cleaned up a bit, huh? Don’t want your boy Barnes to come back inside and decide I’ve been mistreating you.’

‘Sam—‘ I protested weakly.

‘Nuh-uh.’ He waggled his finger at me.

He WAGGLED his finger at me. Are you secretly a ninety year old woman, Sam?

He continued. ‘Because he sees those red puffy eyes and _after_ he fusses over you like you were about to die, I’m not sure even Steve could keep him from coming after me.’ Sam laughed. He was semi-serious but the thought amused him at the same time. Well, I guess it takes a special sort to run with superheroes.

I grumbled to myself but I let Sam hand me damp cloths and take them away until my face was mostly back to normal. I did my best to keep Sam from seeing my shaking hands but that failed. He reached over to the end table nearby and shook another little pill into his hand.

‘No arguments, you need it.’

I snarled at him silently and downed the pill. What? I didn’t argue, and Sam was a big boy. He could take it. He just snorted anyway. 

‘Wish I could do that,’ Bucky’s voice startled both of us. We nearly got whiplash turning our heads to see him leaning against the dividing wall between the kitchen and the living room. Neither of us had heard him come in.

‘Do what?’ I asked in confusion.

‘Get you to do something without arguing half the day about it.’ Was Bucky’s drawled reply. I made a face at him before turning back to Sam.

‘Thanks for looking after me,’ I said.

‘Yeah, no problem,’ he replied easily. ‘I’m gonna go check on Steve, see if he needs anything else before I head to the store.’ He nodded amiably to Bucky but Bucky just stared him down with narrowed eyes. He could probably tell something had happened between the two of us, and from his look he didn’t like it.

When the door had swung shut after Sam, Bucky left off propping up the wall and walked to my side. He thumbed gently at the swollen skin around my eyes.

‘What happened?’ his voice was gentle, but dangerous.

‘Talked to Sam. Nightmares and things,’ I said vaguely, giving him a tired smile. ‘It’s okay, I needed it.’ Bucky nodded but he wasn’t happy. His shoulders were tight and he had that air of fight-or-flight he got when he was unsettled. ‘How did things go outside?’ I took a guess.

He rolled his shoulders in what could have been a shrug. ‘Nearly took Stark’s head off.’

‘I’m sure he deserved it,’ I said supportively. Bucky grimaced. Oh Bucky. ‘Everything good now, though?’

He nodded. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was a little surprised he hadn’t spent more time outside with Steve. I could understand him wanting to check on me, but when Bucky got antsy I knew from experience he liked to do something physical. That wasn’t happening in here.

I wanted to joke with him about doing a perimeter check, but the last time he’d done one we’d gotten attacked so it wasn’t really funny.

Bucky forestalled all of that by lifting me off the couch, sliding in underneath me, and turning me in his arms until we were positioned like we were last night. 

Oh. 

That was…surprising.

‘Hey.’ Was all I could think to say. Great job, Lily. So words. Much coherent.

‘Hey,’ he huffed back. I could feel his abdominal muscles clench and release underneath me. It was nice.

My shaking hands ended up tucked by his sides, curled into his shirt again. I was overwhelmed by the desire to just nuzzle against him and tell him how I loved him but I held it off. Down, girl. He cares for you, sure enough—but that’s an entirely different ball game, you know that.

Yeah. I knew that. It was just hard to remember when I was nestled in his arms and he was holding me like I mattered the world to him. Or maybe that was just me projecting.

I wanted to think it through, wanted to build some higher walls inside myself to stop any future mistakes/feelings from getting out. But Bucky was warm and I was worn out and between one breath and the next I was asleep.

 

I woke to whispers and growl-voiced rumbles underneath my head. No, don’t wanna be awake…I whined and turned my face into the semi-yielding surface beneath me. A low voiced shushed me and ran gentle fingers through my hair. I sighed. This was almost better than sleep…

Against my will, my mind started to gain coherency. I was home. I’d been talking to Sam. Bucky had come back in and I’d fallen asleep on top of him again (my favorite spot!) and it was his chest I’d pushed my face into and his hand that was carding through my hair. 

Oh. I wanted to whine again. This was so much better than being asleep. But I was awake now and what’s allowed from a half-asleep person is different from what’s allowed from an awake one. I turned my head to one side and swiped blearily at my eyes.

‘Oh good! You’re awake!’ It was Laura. I blinked at her in sleepy confusion, then made a face and pretended to hide my face in Bucky’s chest. ‘Hey!’ she said, and I grumbled something unintelligible in response that no one could hear. Underneath me I could feel the rumble of a laugh that never left Bucky’s throat. It made me smile.

I turned back to Laura. ‘Hey.’ I finally said. The two painkillers had really knocked me out and I was still feeling a little disconnected.

‘That’s what I said,’ Laura teased. 

‘Mmph.’ Was my elegant reply, along with a scrunched up face. ‘Go ‘way. Sleeping.’ Bucky silently laughed again. Laura glared at him like she knew what he’d done. I couldn’t see Bucky’s face but I was sure it was blank as anything. I was _never_ playing a betting game with him. Never.

‘We brought you your computer back,’ Charlie contributed, edging into my view.

‘Hi Charlie.’ I said.

‘Hey Lily,’ he smiled kindly.

‘How come he gets the nice hello and all I got was sass?’ Laura interjected.

I fake-glared at her. ‘Cause you woke me up. Charlie’s just here.’ Charlie hid a snicker as Laura turned on him and he made a ‘what? I’m completely innocent here’ face. He was fooling nobody. He should take lessons from Bucky.

Bucky kept up running his fingers through my hair. It was making it hard to concentrate but I was having trouble caring. Mmm…

‘Where’s Jackson?’ I yawned and settled deeper into Bucky. His grip tightened on me soothingly for a second before it relaxed.

Laura’s eyes kept flicking between me and Bucky as if she wanted to object to something but Charlie nudged her and I could see her set it aside. ‘Your friend Sam’s got him. Keeps threatening Captain America with him.’

‘Steve never was good with babies.’ Bucky murmured. ‘They terrify him.’

‘Huh.’ I sighed. Too tired… ‘Good to see you guys again.’

‘Yeah, you too.’ Charlie said.

‘Are you all right, Lily?’ Laura asked, worried. ‘I know you just woke up but you seem…’ she trailed off, unable to find the right words.

‘Painkillers,’ I mumbled.

‘What?’ Laura blinked.

‘Painkillers.’ Bucky said more clearly, and pretty nicely too. ‘Last night wasn’t so good.’

‘But everything’s okay now?’ Laura asked sharply.

Don’t worry, Laura. Everything’s fine. I’m just tired. And it’s so comfy here…

‘She’s okay.’ Bucky said softly. ‘I won’t let anything happen to her.’ Aww, Bucky…

Everyone’s voices went all blurry and indistinct for a while. My body wasn’t under my conscious control anymore and I couldn’t stop myself from snuggling into Bucky and whining whenever his hand stopped petting me. It felt so good…

The world snapped back into focus a while later with the smell of good chicken soup filling my nose. My stomach growled. 

‘Lily.’ It was Bucky. ‘You hungry?’

I nodded but grumbled a little under my breath. I didn’t want to get up. Bucky’s stomach hitched in a quiet laugh. Mine growled again.

‘Soup?’ I mumbled.

‘I don’t think it’s done yet. Sam and Laura’ve formed a conspiracy. They’re not letting anyone near it. Steve nearly got his fingers chopped off with a wooden spoon.’

‘Ow.’

‘Eh. He’ll live. Hey Steve!’ Bucky raised his voice slightly. I heard Steve’s surprisingly light footsteps approach but I didn’t raise my head. Too comfy.

‘What is it?’

‘Lily’s hungry.’ Bucky tone was closer to an order than a statement.

‘I’m on it.’ Was Steve’s prompt reply, every inch the soldier ready to leap into battle. Or make me a sandwich. You know. Whatever.

Mmph. Don’t wanna get up.

My head was clearer than it had been before—clear enough for a tinge of shame to rise up over how I’d been acting. It wasn’t all my fault, though, right? I mean, Bucky had been encouraging me to use him as a pillow and snuggle buddy, right? It wasn’t just me forcing myself on him, right? Because that is literally one of the most awful things I could think to do to him (well, anybody really, but especially him) and it made me feel sick to think about.

Bucky must have felt me tense up. One of his hands thumbed at my back comfortingly. ‘You, ah, need to get up?’ The implication being did I need to use the bathroom. I took the easy out.

‘Yeah, sure.’

Bucky eased us both upright and maneuvered me into his standard bridal carry with minimum fuss. He sure was getting a lot of practice at this. Fortunately he didn’t try to overset the rules I’d given him this morning and he left me beside the toilet to do my business in private. Thank God. The downstairs bathroom was comparatively tiny and the sink was only one step away and I seriously considered just taking that step, but my promise…

‘Bucky.’ I said instead. Grr…

He opened the door but I held out a hand to stop him before he entered. 

‘It’s only one step.’ I said. ‘Can I take it?’

His eyes flicked from me to the sink and back again. They scanned the general surroundings as if the ceiling would suddenly fall in and trip me. He grimaced and nodded yes, not backing up an inch however. He was ready to catch me if anything happened and it felt stifling and comforting at the same time. 

Gah. Why does life have to be so confusing?

I took the step. I even braced one of my hands on the countertop to steady myself. See? This is me being good. I should have been doing even more than this for my daily exercises but after last night…I was willing to give it one day’s grace. I wasn’t too sore at the moment with the lingering effects of two pain pills in my system but I remembered how I felt this morning and I didn’t want to push it.

I dried my hands and gave Bucky a nod. Back to the couch we went…

I was put down upright this time, leaning against the back of the couch next to one of the arms. Bucky patted me slightly as he stood up and walked away to return with what Steve had wrought in the kitchen. It was a turkey and cheese sandwich, with just a touch of mustard and mayo. Nice. Laura or Charlie must have given him a tip.

I suddenly felt like giggling, imagining Charlie giving his biggest hero a tip for making his best friend a sandwich. There was lots of happy chatter coming from the kitchen. Maybe they were comparing favorite sandwiches. Maybe sometime soon I’d get to hear Charlie geek out about how he knew Captain America’s favorite sandwich.

I smiled around my mouthful. Life was good.

I didn’t want to spoil my dinner though, and I wasn’t too hungry, so I nudged the other cut half of the sandwich towards Bucky who’d sat down next to me after fetching me a fresh glass of water. 

He stared blankly at it.

I stared blankly at him.

We both stared blankly at each other until he slowly picked up the half a sandwich and bit into it. I couldn’t keep a straight face after that and my smile felt like it took up half my face. Bucky was _eating_. It felt good, even if I hadn’t been the one to make him the food.

Bucky shook his head at me but he kept eating, demolishing the sandwich in mere seconds. Ha.

‘You know,’ Sam spoke up from the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, ‘I don’t know whether the two of y’all are creepy or just well matched.’

Bucky raised an eyebrow at hm. I followed suit just to mess with Sam. We stared at him blankly until he raised his hands and backed away. Bucky and I shared a look then a stifled giggle. Messing with Sam was fun.

‘I was gonna give you your stuff back,’ he called from the kitchen. ‘But if y’all insist on being so _creepy_ —‘

‘What stuff?’ I called out.

‘What you had in the hospital,’ Sam called back.

I didn’t have much in the hospital, nothing that I remembered wanting to take with me, anyway. Maybe some leftover expensive chocolate from Tony, or even—

‘Reggie!’ I yelled and nearly stood up before Bucky nearly threw himself on top of me with wide eyes and a panicked expression. ‘Oh, sorry Bucky! I didn’t mean to—‘

‘Damn it!’ I heard Sam yell. ‘I shouldn’t have brought it up.’

Sam really did hate Reginald after how they’d been introduced. ‘Too late now!’ I said cheerily. ‘C’mon Sam, where’s my stuff? Poor Reggie’s been stuck in there for days.’ 

‘Don’t be a drama queen,’ Sam muttered as he grumpily dropped my bag at my feet, Bucky still holding a protective arm across me to stop any ill-conceived attempts at getting up. I whispered sorry at him again and it seemed to take this time. He leaned over and picked up my bag for me, bracing it on his lap.

‘Be careful, man,’ Was Sam’s parting shot. Bucky looked worried.

‘Reggie’s harmless,’ I protested as I opened the zipper and dug around for my precious tiny mechanical thing. I felt him clamp around my hand and I grinned widely. ‘Got him!’ I drew him out, prepared to stop Bucky from trying to dismantle it. Reggie was _mine._

Reggie beeped desperately as I pulled him out into the light of day. He clung with all his tiny little strength to my hand and I gently patted him with my bad arm.

‘Bucky, this is Reginald. Reginald, this is Bucky.’ 

Bucky gave me a _look_. It was very eloquent. It called into question my sanity for not only finding such a small mechanical contrivance cute, but also for naming it and introducing it to Bucky as if it mattered. I nearly stuck my tongue out at him. Of _course_ it mattered!

Reginald beeped in acknowledgement at Bucky. I still wasn’t sure how much processing power Tony had loading into him—he was tiny, but that didn’t always mean much with Stark tech—and it appeared that at the very least he had better manners than Bucky.

I made a moue of disappointment at Bucky. His face said, Really? I raised my eyebrows and nodded seriously. He sighed in frustrated annoyance.

‘Hello Reginald.’ He said flatly.

I smiled and bounced Reggie up and down on my hand. He buzzed in what I assume was happiness and started to climb up to my shoulder where he liked to perch except when I was sleeping.

Bucky was staring at the two of us with something between disgust and confusion.

‘Tony gave him to me.’ I said.

His face cleared immediately into understanding. Ahhh. It was tiny, technological, and annoying—of _course_ it was Tony’s fault. 

‘He makes buzzy noises that helped me sleep while I was in the hospital.’ I continued on, wanting him to understand just part of why I liked it—and conversely, Tony—as much as I did.

Bucky sighed again, this time I think in disappointment that he couldn’t despise it (and Tony) as much as he wanted to.

Touch luck, Bucky. Reggie is awesome. Tony…well. We’ll take that on a day by day basis, shall we?

‘What on earth is that?’ Laura said in shock as she walked up to the couch, leaving Sam to guard the soup from Steve’s depredations.

‘It’s Reggie, I told you about Reggie, right?’ I asked in confusion. We had been talking every day in the hospital and while I might not have been at my best I thought I’d mentioned him.

‘Ohhh,’ Laura said in understanding as she leaned over us and stared at him close up. ‘It just looks…weirder than I thought it would.’

I wanted to object, but…well. Tony hadn’t designed Reggie for aesthetics. I kind of wondered just what exactly Reggie had been designed for, but hey. He was my pet now.

I made a face at Laura anyway, just to keep up appearances. ‘Be nice. Laura, this is Reggie. Reggie, this is Laura.’ Reggie hummed against my shoulder and freed up one ‘hand’ to wave at her. She giggled in surprise and waved back. Wow. So…much smarter than I originally thought. Huh.

‘Okay,’ Laura said. ‘It’s kind of cute.’

‘Hmmph.’ I said. _Kind_ of cute? Reggie was _all_ cute. ‘How’s the soup going?’

‘Maybe another hour, then time to cool a little and strain. You’d know that part a little better than me.’ She said.

‘Half hour tops for that part, if we want to eat it right away. Are you guys staying?’ I asked hopefully. They’d probably been here a while already but I’d been asleep for most of it. 

‘No,’ Laura said regretfully. ‘We really shouldn’t. We’ll come over another night, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I said sadly. I understood, though. Life always got more tricksy when you had a baby to look after too.

‘Hey, we’ll be checking up on you a _lot_.’ Laura said softly. 

‘Okay,’ I said, equally softly, but a little happier. 

‘Now,’ Laura said more briskly, ‘You up for holding Jackson for a bit?’

‘Yeah,’ I grinned. Laura fetched Charlie from the kitchen who was holding him at the moment. He easily passed him to me with a wink and he gave Bucky a friendly nod. Bucky seemed a little perplexed but he nodded back. 

‘Aww,’ I cooed at the tiny sleeping baby on my lap. ‘He’s still so small!’

‘Practically growing by the minute, though.’ Laura sighed over-dramatically. Charlie elbowed her gently and they smiled at each other with love all over their faces. It made my insides feel squishy and happy to see them like that.

Bucky leaned over me slightly to get a good look at Jackson, his bottom lip worriedly caught between his teeth. I thought he looked like he wanted to reach out and touch him, but he didn’t dare. 

‘It’s okay,’ Charlie spoke up after sharing a silent yet heated conversation with Laura. ‘You can touch him.’

I wanted to throw my arms around Charlie and squeeze him so hard for saying that. From what Charlie had said, he and Bucky got off to a rocky start with everything that had happened, but to offer something like that? It was a big amount of trust.

Bucky got that. His eyes widened and he shook his head, drawing onto his section of the couch. 

‘Oh for pete’s sake!’ Laura snapped, and picked up Jackson from me and practically shoved him into Bucky’s arms. My breath caught and I nearly choked. Seriously, Laura? I mean, I’d trust Bucky with anything up to and including a baby—but I wouldn’t just _shove_ one at him! Laura always was a bit more impetuous than me.

Bucky responded admirably, holding Jackson gently with both hands at first, then carefully rearranging him so that he was held in the crook of Bucky’s right arm and the metal arm didn’t have to touch him at all. It made me want to sniffle. Even Laura seemed to understand why he’d done it and her face softened.

‘Well, you’re better at it than Steve.’ Charlie said to break up the tension.

Bucky couldn’t stop his faint smirk. ‘Now why doesn’t that surprise me.’

‘Hey!’ Steve shouted from the kitchen. ‘I’ll have you know I held a lot of babies while I was on tour.’

‘And how many of them cried their heads off until you handed them back to their mommas?’ Bucky said in a normal tone, trusting that Steve’s super-hearing would pick it up.

We all heard Sam laugh. ‘He pleads the fifth.’

‘’Course he does,’ Bucky shook his head and looked up at us. ‘I had a lot of younger sisters. Ma was always shoving one of them at me to keep busy. Steve was an only child, poor soul.’

Laura snorted, having gotten a hand of Bucky’s sense of humor. I relaxed into the couch, happy to see my friends getting along a bit better.

Jackson stretched and whimpered in Bucky’s arm. He joggled him minutely and hummed nonsense at him. Jackson settled with a smack of his lips and a wave of one tiny fist. 

Awww.

Bucky was obviously good with him, but I could tell his nervousness was growing that something would go wrong—that _he’d_ go wrong somehow—and Jackson would get hurt. I flicked my eyes to Laura and tilted my head slightly at Bucky. Long time friend that she was, she understood me. 

‘We should really go,’ She said regretfully. Charlie nodded and kissed her cheek.

‘I’ll go get our stuff ready.’ He leaned over me and hugged me carefully. ‘See you soon, Lily.’

‘See you soon.’ I said back. He and Bucky exchanged silent nods again and then Charlie walked out. I could hear him saying his goodbyes to Steve and Sam while Laura took Jackson back from Bucky. Bucky relinquished him easily enough, but ran a finger lightly over his tufty hair in goodbye. 

‘Thank you.’ I could barely hear Bucky say it.

‘No problem.’ Laura breezily replied. Dear God but she was a great friend. ‘Bye Lily. I’ll call you later, okay?’

‘Okay. I’ll try not to be asleep.’

‘Hmf.’ She snorted and left the room. I heard her say goodbye to Steve and Sam: they’d obviously become fond of her. It wasn’t hard to do.

Bucky was practicing deep breathing next to me. Holding Jackson had been a great thing, but it had upset him too. I maneuvered my bad arm so it my hand was laying next to his. I nudged him with my pinky and offered him an understanding smile when he turned to look at me. He closed his eyes in acknowledgement and turned away, but on his next deep breath he took my hand in his and we sat on the couch together. Just breathing.


	33. Chapter 33

You know, even a couple weeks ago I’d have told you that sitting on a couch, holding someone’s hand and just breathing would have gotten boring pretty fast.

I was happy to be wrong.

I don’t know how long Bucky and I spent just sitting there, but it was long enough that Sam eventually popped his head in and nodded at me.

‘Laura mentioned that now was the time to start the matzo balls, if we wanted them.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ I said. ‘What do you need?’

‘Recipe would be nice,’ Sam teased gently. ‘She wasn’t sure where you kept it.’

‘Right. Corner bookcase in the kitchen, it’s a small clothbound book called ‘The Jewish Home Beautiful.’ Should be in the Passover section. Honestly, you could probably just open it and it would fall to the right page.’

Sam laughed. ‘I have a couple books like that.’ He left and I heard him shuffling around in the kitchen before, ‘Aha! Got it.’ He found the recipe and I occasionally gave him some advice from beyond the dividing wall but he told me to stay put, that he could handle it.

From the way Bucky was peering at me sideways, he wanted me to let Sam handle it, so I did. Grr. Bucky held my hand a little tighter though, and that was really nice.

Sam and Steve puttered around the kitchen, all quiet jokes and barks of laughter. Something occurred to me:

‘Where’s Tony?’ I asked Bucky.

‘Left.’ He said, then swallowed, looking away slightly.

‘When?’ I didn’t want to press, but I was curious. Tony was hard to handle most of—well, to be honest, ALL—of the time, but I hadn’t gotten to say goodbye!

‘After…’ Bucky deliberately trailed off and waggled the fingers on his left hand instead.

‘Oh. Okay.’ I guess I sounded disappointed because Bucky turned to me and nudged my shoulder with his own.

‘He said he’d come back,’ Bucky sounded more resigned than happy about it, but it made me smile, which made him roll his eyes.

My stomach growled. ‘Soup,’ I said forlornly. It smelled amazing.

‘We’re just straining it now,’ Steve shouted from the kitchen.

‘Yay soup!’ I called back. There was a snort, I couldn’t tell from whom.

‘Matzo balls are on their way too.’ Sam said.

Mmm, chicken soup and matzo balls.

It was almost torture waiting long enough for everything to be finished, but eventually Bucky carried me over to the table and we were able to dig in. 

Sam and Steve made happy groaning noises while they slurped their soup and even Bucky almost smiled when he tasted it. 

‘Buck, you were right,’ Steve sighed happily. ‘Best thing I’ve tasted in a long time.’

‘Good thing Stark’s not here, if he heard you say that, he’d never stop talking about how ungrateful you are after all the restaurants he’s taken you to,’ Sam quipped.

‘Dear God,’ Steve said, and it was almost a prayer. ‘he can never know.’

Bucky smirked a little at that one and everyone settled into a happy silence.

My earlier heavy dose of pain meds were finally wearing off and even though I could feel flashes of uncomfortable pain it was nice to have my brain back up to speed, at least mostly.

The house was a lot quieter without Tony around. Even when he was ‘quiet’ he still seemed to take up a lot of space. I’d met people like that before, who just seemed to fill up a room when they entered it like their personality was a gas that expanded to fill any volume of a container—

Wait a minute, that came out a little more negative than I meant…ah well.

Any way—Tony. Not here. Much quieter. Yes.

Fortunately it wasn’t an awkward quiet, just the quiet of several different people who didn’t feel the need to fill it with talking. Me, because I was tired again (how?? I’d just slept half the day away???); Bucky, because he was still down about whatever had gone down earlier when he was outside; Steve and Sam, because they could tell we weren’t up for it. 

So, pretty nice. Overall. 

The fact that there was ice cream for dessert was just icing on the cake.

‘You guys got ice cream?’ I might have shrieked a little bit. Steve looked startled but he smiled in pleasant confusion at me while Sam braced himself against the counter and laughed in perfect silence behind his back. 

‘Just get the bowls, punk,’ Bucky sighed as he brushed past him. Steve’s smile turned a little more genuine and relaxed as he did as he was told.

I aimed squinty eyes at Bucky. ‘Yeah, like _I’m_ the only one here who’s excited about ice cream.’

Steve’s smile turned into a little more of a smirk. Yup. He knew about Bucky’s sweet tooth. Good.

Bucky dished out ice cream for me and brought it over, but behind his back Steve loaded up a massive bowl for him and put it down before he could move away from the table. ‘There’s yours, Buck,’ he said innocently enough.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Uh-huh.’ But he sat down and dug in without further comment. I smiled at him through a mouthful of delicious chocolate and peanut butter swirl. He shook his head at me, fondly I hoped. And every time he put a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth he smiled his small sugar-smile.

It was enough to give a girl heart palpitations.

Bucky hadn’t over-filled my bowl but near the end of it I was flagging. I gave it a small glare and hoped no one would notice. Ice cream wasn’t _meant_ to melt in my bowl, I was meant to _eat_ it. Stupid bullet wounds, keeping me from finishing my ice cream—

Bucky dragged the bowl away from me and when I looked up in surprise he just held eye contact while spooning up the last bit of my ice cream into his mouth. I huffed a small laugh and felt muscles I didn’t even know were tense relax. Wasting ice cream is just…horrible. Practically a sin.

Sam and Steve pretended not to notice the byplay, instead choosing to bad-mouth each other’s taste in food.

‘Spam isn’t food, Steve, it’s just foam pretending to be meat. Pretending _badly_.’ 

‘And you’re telling me that fried butter is?’

‘No, I’m telling you—you go to the state fair, you eat the fried butter. You’ll metabolize it in five seconds what’s your problem? You didn’t pitch a hissy fit over the fried oreos.’

‘That’s a cookie. You want to fry it in batter?—strange, but okay—but at least it started out as something you’d want to eat. Butter, Sam?’

‘Not the point, Steve. Not the point.’

‘I’m surprised you didn’t go for the donut cheeseburger.’

‘That hurts man, that really hurts.’

Their sniping died down at some point and everyone except me started to clean up. I shifted unhappily—I’ve never enjoyed cleaning up, but it didn’t seem right to have everyone doing all the work _for_ me—which earned me a glare from Bucky. I leaned back into my chair with a roll of my eyes. The next time Bucky walked past me he flicked my ear. I squawked in indignation and rubbed the offended appendage that was suffering very real pain.

So much very real pain. Not pretending at all. Noooo…

‘Another movie tonight?’ Steve asked, happy with anticipation.

‘Sure,’ I yawned. ‘Laura’s gonna call, though, so maybe after that?’

The men in the kitchen shared a ‘look’ that I interpreted as ‘she’s probably going to fall asleep in the middle of it, but that’s okay.’ 

Hmph. So what if I fell asleep in the middle of the movie? If we were watching one of mine I’d definitely seen it before. 

As if on cue, my new cell phone that Tony had brought me in the hospital started ringing from where some kind person had remembered to plug it in. Sam snagged it and brought it over to me. I tapped the screen to accept the call.

‘Hey Laura!’

‘Hey! Did I call too early and catch you during dinner? I didn’t want to call too late—‘

‘No no! You’re fine. We just finished with everything. Hey, if you give me a minute I’ll call you back once I get situated.’

‘Sound’s great. Talk to you in a few.’

‘Bye.’ I smiled down onto the phone as I ended the call. I looked up at Bucky who was deliberately looking away from me in an effort to offer a small shred of privacy. ‘Bucky?’ He turned to me, his face carefully blank. ‘Could you bring me upstairs? It’ll be a little more comfy than…’

‘Sure,’ he nodded. 

When he put me down on my bed upstairs, I noticed someone had already brought my computer up there from when Charlie and Laura had brought it this afternoon. I couldn’t help smiling at it and patting the case gently. After all that had happened it was nice to see that some things had survived intact.

‘Thanks Bucky.’ I smiled brightly at him. His eyes crinkled a little but his mouth didn’t move. He stood by my bed in one of his nearly inhuman stillnesses for a second (his way of wanting to flutter and hover) before he turned and left, shutting the door behind himself.

I didn’t even listen for his feet on the stairs before I called Laura back.

‘Hey!’ I said.

‘Hey yourself,’ she said back. ‘Comfy now?’

‘Yeah, yeah, blame the girl with three bullet holes in her for wanting to be comfy while she talks to her best friend— _great_ idea, Laura, how did you come up with it?’

‘Oh that’s just—‘ we both burst into a fit of giggles. ‘Not what I meant, Lily, not what I meant!’

‘Uh-huh. _Sure_.’

‘Are you feeling better though? You were pretty out of it earlier.’ Laura’s voice held lingering worry and unease.

‘It’s not exactly peaches and cream,’ I said, ‘But earlier is what happens when you take two of my painkillers at the same time. They really make me out of it.’

‘Mm, yeah,’ Laura seemed to be side-stepping an issue. ‘You seemed pretty close to Bucky.’

And there it was. I’d thought in the hospital that she’d caught on to how I felt about Bucky, and it seemed that what she saw had only confirmed it. ‘Yeah,’ I replied, because it was the truth. Bucky and I were pretty close, even if we weren’t as close as maybe I wanted us to be. And just saying ‘yeah’ wasn’t anything any inadvertent eavesdroppers could make anything out of, not unless they could hear Laura’s side of the conversation too. (living with Bucky ‘the house sounds different when you’re asleep even from two floors away’ hasn’t exactly made me paranoid, but it has given me a different perspective on how to have a secret conversation with my best friend without him overhearing)

‘Don’t ‘yeah’ me, Lily and leave it at that!’

‘What do you want me to say?’ I squirmed uncomfortably. What to do, what to do?

‘I—I want you to tell me the truth.’ Laura sounded hurt. Oh no.

‘I, bother—give me a minute.’ I dragged my laptop closer to me and sent up a silent prayer to the gods of batteries as I turned it on. Yes, success!

‘What’re you doing?’

‘Turning my laptop on.’

‘Why?’

‘Just, hold on a minute, okay? Not unless you want my whole house to hear us talking. Well, not Sam. He doesn’t have enhanced hearing.’

‘Umm, wow, no privacy.’

‘Not really. I’ve had lots of privacy—I’ve just never needed to have a conversation that shouldn’t be overheard before.’ I finally got my music opened up and turned on some loud classical. I wasn’t really sure what the best music for whiting out a Supersoldier’s hearing was, but at least I got to listen to something I liked.

‘Is that going to work?’ Laura asked.

‘You can hear it?’

‘Yeah, a little.’

‘Bother. And I hope so.’ I tried to move the computer a little farther away but I couldn’t move much myself. ‘It’s bad enough talking behind someone’s back: it’s even worse when you know they can hear you.’

‘Lily, I’m not trying to—‘

‘Yeah you kind of are and that’s okay, you’re my friend and you’re worried about me. I just don’t want to be—‘ I broke off at a sudden sound at my door.

There was a gentle rapping rapping, as if someone was gently tapping at my chamber door.

Merely this and nothing more. 

Eek. Who wanted to bet that I’d been heard by my houseguests? No takers? Yeah. Me too.

‘Hello?’ I raised my voice, then shushed Laura on the phone as she babbled at me.

The door cracked open to reveal a thin slice of Bucky, looking awkward and tense. ‘Me’n Steve are going to spar. You don’t—we’ll be outside.’ He started to close the door.

‘Bucky!’ I called out, feeling nauseous and upset that I’d hurt him. I hadn’t meant to! That was why I’d put the white noise on. Nothing Laura would say could make me change how I felt about him—but the things I’d say while talking with her would be awkward at best and incriminating at worst. And I didn’t want him to dislike her for trying to look after me.

Bucky didn’t seem to take it that way, though. He was as withdrawn and silent as he had been when he first came here. _Oh Bucky._

‘I’m sorry,’ I finally said. ‘It’s not what you think—‘ Bucky shook his head roughly.

‘We’ll be outside.’ Then he shut the door. It was a quiet sound, but it slammed into my stomach like a punch. _Bucky!_ I felt a wash of fear and anger flash through me. I picked up my phone from where I’d let it fall to my side. ‘He’s gone now.’ I said flatly to Laura. ‘What did you want to say?’

‘Lily—‘

‘Don’t. Just…don’t.’

Laura sighed. ‘I’m…I’m worried about you. You disappeared and I was worried sick! But when you came back it was almost worse because you’d been tortured and shot and surrounded by superheroes who swear they’re looking after you—but be real, Lily; are they really here for you? Or for Bucky? And why is he still there with you anyway? He’s got Steve back—Oh my God, I can call Captain America Steve—but it—it’s just not _right_ , you know? How much he’s…he’s…’ Laura hesitated.

‘He’s what, Laura? He’s _what_?’ I did my best not to snarl at her. Bucky had been through so much, but he’d done so much for me because of how good a person he was and I had a feeling what Laura would say next would tip my anger from a low burn into a raging inferno.

‘How much he’s taking advantage of you, Lily, and I can’t just stand by and watch it happen!’

Oh yeah. Burning fiery rage time. It didn’t matter that Laura’s voice was only filled with genuine concern and worry for my well being. It didn’t matter that I understood from an outside perspective the relationship that Bucky and I had might seem a little closer than normal, especially given the short amount of time we’d spent together.

I wasn’t feeling rational though. Laura had already caused me to hurt Bucky—something I wasn’t even sure if I could fix and oh how that _hurt_ —and now she was misrepresenting his gut-wrenching guilt, genuine care for me, and need to fix what he’d broken as something dangerous that needed to be guarded against.

‘Lily?’ I heard Laura say, her voice tinny from the speaker of my phone. ‘Lily?’

‘I’m here.’ I said slowly, knowing that I should try to breathe deep to mitigate my rage, knowing that I didn’t have enough self-control for that. I just hoped I had enough not to snap my life-long friendship into so many pieces it couldn’t be put back together again. ‘Laura.’ I took a deep breath.

‘Laura. Listen very closely to me. Believe what I say.’ She tried to cut in to reassure me, but I spoke over her. ‘Bucky is my friend. Yes, he’s dangerous. And yes, so many bad things have happened to me since he came into my life. But there were so many more bad things that happened to him first, and despite that—despite all of that! He’s only shown himself to be a good person who has cared for me even when he could barely care for himself. You remember what I told you about what happened after you left on that Friday right before the reunion?’

‘Yes.’ Laura’s voice was quiet but I could tell it took effort not to say more.

‘I hadn’t slept in days. I was drinking. Not that much, really, but enough. Bucky had only been at the house four days. From what I read online, it had only been a week or so since the last time Hydra turned his brain into mush. Mush, Laura! And when I pass out in my kitchen what does this feared and fearsome killer do? What does he do?’ I said tightly into the phone.

‘I don’t know.’ Laura said evenly.

‘He catches me before I can fall and he takes me upstairs and he tucks me into bed. Nothing else. When a week before his brain was mush and he was as likely to kill someone as look at them. And the next day he followed me to the reunion and yeah I know how creepy that is, believe me I know—but if he wasn’t there? Peter would have raped me and I promise you that the tiny bit of creepiness from Bucky following me is greatly overshadowed by that! 

‘And the first thing he did when I made it back home was to say that he was leaving because he didn’t want me to get hurt. Didn’t want me to get hurt. Didn’t—‘

‘I get it,’ Laura snapped. Her patience had worn thin. Well whoop de doo, mine had too.

‘But first he danced with me, because I was upset about what had happened and blamed myself for dancing with Peter and encouraging him, and Bucky said that I shouldn’t have to regret dancing.’

‘Lily—I know that he cares for you,’ Laura said slowly, obviously trying to be reasonable, ‘but it still might not be all that healthy. For him. Or you.’

‘So you don’t trust him.’

‘Lily—‘

‘You let him hold Jackson. You let him hold your newborn son and you say you can’t trust him?’ I was shaking with my need to scream but I held it back.

‘That’s not the point—‘

‘Oh, I’m pretty sure it is! It’s not that Bucky’s messed up. _I’m_ messed up—I was messed up long before all this and I know that’s what you’re really worried about, isn’t it? You’re worried that I’m not making the right decisions. That I’ve snapped.’

‘That’s not—‘

‘Uh-huh.’ 

‘Would you just! Stop! It!’ Laura shouted. My lips twisted into a grimace but I kept quiet. ‘For the last four months you’ve been a ghost. You didn’t die, but you might as well have. And I know you, Lily—I know you! You hide away until you feel better and that’s fine, I get it! I know you. But I’m worried that a damaged man showed up who needed your help and since you’re you—and I know you—you threw everything you had at him and didn’t even stop to keep anything back for yourself. You give and you give, and you drain yourself dry for people who say they need you. Because you care—you care so much! But what happens when he leaves? What happens to you then? You’re basing your stability off of someone else and when that’s taken away? 

‘You care so much about people you love, Lily, and I’ve always loved that about you,’ Laura said, softer. ‘But I’m worried you’re in this one too deep and you’re only going to get hurt.’

Tears pricked at my eyes. The very thought of Bucky leaving had been a pain in my mind and a hitch in my breathing every time it had come up. So many people I’d loved had left me—well, died, to be completely fair—and just the thought of another one doing it—

Well.

But as much as it hurt I knew I’d weather that storm. I wouldn’t like it. It would be awful. I’d probably relapse a bit. But if it was what Bucky genuinely wanted I wouldn’t say or do anything to make him stay. I would do anything that he needed—

Ah. Right. That _was_ the exact reason Laura was so worried. 

I. Would. Do. Anything.

I already had. I’d taken bullets and shrapnel for him. I’d tried to withstand torture for him. I’d cooked and cleaned and opened up the dark secrets of my past to him because that was me. When I cared—when I loved—I did anything. 

And was it so wrong for me to wish that Bucky felt even close to the same for me? Because if it was all just an overreaction and obsession on my part I could understand Laura’s worry. If it was all just Bucky taking advantage of my giving nature I could understand her point of view.

But it was more complex than that, more complicated than two broken people using each other to feel better. What we had was too generous and too sincere for it to be either one of us taking advantage of the other. I mean, I was still worried that Bucky felt so guilty that he’d agree to anything I asked of him—but I’d never do that! I’d never want him to do anything that he didn’t wholeheartedly want to do.

What did they call it? Ah yes. Not just informed consent, but enthusiastic consent. Not a grudgingly extracted yes, or a timid or resigned one—but a full-on hell-yeah! of a yes.

And despite all my worries about my physical closeness with Bucky being something that I wanted more than him, every time I’d confronted him about it he’d set me straight. He needed it as much as me and that was the only thing that could quiet my never-ending internal fears: if he needed it as much as me, it was something I was doing for him as well as for myself, so it was okay, right?

If Bucky was here and following along my convoluted thought process he’d probably nudge me gently and say of course. 

Bucky wasn’t here though. He was outside sparring with Steve, probably convinced that I was saying nasty things about him on the phone to Laura.

Laura.

My best friend. The person who’d been with me through everything, no matter how I’d pushed her away sometimes. I loved her. I would always love her. 

But she wasn’t always right.

‘I’m already hurt, Laura.’ I finally said. ‘Should I have not loved my family so much because it hurt me when they died? Should I not love you so much because it hurts me when we fight?’

‘Lily—‘

Tears were dripping down my chin and I couldn’t keep my voice from hitching. ‘I love you. I love you so much. But Bucky is one of the better things to happen to me in my entire life—and the thought of having never met him? That’s what hurts. I—I can’t—‘ I broke off with a sob.

‘I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,’ Laura said on the other end of the phone. 

Yeah. Me too.

‘I can’t—I can’t do this. Bye,’ I forced out between sobs, and ended the call. 

All I could think was _Bucky Bucky Bucky_ but it didn’t matter. He was outside. He couldn’t hear me. He probably didn’t want to hear me. Didn’t want to talk to me again. Why would he? I’d messed up. Let him think I didn’t trust him. Didn’t—

It’s hard to sob when you’ve got a perforated abdomen. Even more so when you can’t curl onto either of your sides because both are injured. I flailed an arm and shut the stupid classical music off. I should have done that before but I’d been too upset with Laura to consider anything else.

My body shook as I tried to stay quiet, tried to make sure Sam wouldn’t hear anything suspicious and come investigate. I’d nearly forgotten about Reggie on my shoulder when he began to hum and vibrate in his comforting way. It just made me cry harder as I tried to clumsily cup him with my other hand. 

_Oh Bucky._

I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me. Please—

This made the second time today that I’d burst into tears. I was kind of sick of it, but I couldn’t stop. My thoughts just kept swirling around in a chaotic mess, chasing their tails around and around and around—

I love Bucky and I know Bucky cares for me but what if he only cares for me because I was nice to him and he’s only here because he feels guilty but I can’t let him stay if he only feels obligation to me and it’ll hurt to send him away because I love him and I know he cares for me but what if—

What if—

What—

I almost didn’t hear the light knock on the door when it came. I had given up on crying on my back and curled onto my right side, saying damn the torpedoes! to my leg and taking a perverse joy in the awkwardness and misery of my position. Reggie had shifted to my other shoulder, but even his comforting presence couldn’t do much.

‘Lily?’ Someone said softly from the other side of my door.

I took a couple of stabilizing breaths so that I was able to say ‘Yes?’ without stuttering or sobbing through it.

‘Can I come in?’ The voice was low enough that I couldn’t tell who it was, my own misery and pain too loud for me to pay attention to the subtle cues that might have been able to help me. Didn’t really matter who it was. Every single person in this house had seen me cry before. What was I trying to hide?

‘S-sure,’ I said, but this time I couldn’t keep my breath from hitching and a surge of shame had me shivering into my bed. I wanted to curl up tighter but my body was already protesting my position and I wasn’t that much of a masochist.

After the door swung open there was a moment of silence—what, are you shocked or something? Shouldn’t be surprising that I was one big mess—before Bucky was at my side.

‘Hey, no—just breathe with me, all right? Just breathe.’ He was stroking the hair out of my face like he didn’t even realize he was doing it and it made me cry even harder. I scrunched my eyes shut and shook my head. Oh, this is so much worse than I was expecting. Sam, I could deal with. Steve, I could handle. 

But Bucky? I was just too shattered and broken to know where to start.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered in between sobs. ‘I’m sorry,’

‘None of that,’ Bucky said angrily. 

I flinched. It just made me cry harder. Of course Bucky was angry with me. Of course he was upset. He should just leave and go get better somewhere I wasn’t there to mess things up.

‘No, no, I didn’t mean it like that—damn it—Lily, please, please just look at me?’

I cracked my eyelids open, unable to ignore anything he asked of me in a voice like that. My vision was watery and I was having trouble slowing my sobs, the extra stress on my stomach muscles shooting pain up my side from where I’d been shot.

Bucky was crouched close to the bed. His hand was still on the side of my head and I would have given anything for his to stay there forever but he pulled away from me with an unreadable expression on his face and I couldn’t stop the fresh tears that blurred my eyes or the way I kept whispering, ‘sorry, sorry, sorry,’ but to my shock, Bucky didn’t leave. He gracefully clambered over me and pressed himself up against my back.

‘Breathe with me, feel me breathe, that’s it, in…and out. Breathe with me, Lily, that’s it—‘

Bucky’s metal arm wrapped around me and he gently held my hand and rubbed his thumb absently over my fingers as I struggled to match my breathing to his and quiet the desperate blinding ache of emotions that had flared up so hot and bright inside of me.

My sobs subsided into shudders, and eventually even my shudders turned into shivers which turned into desolate exhaustion. But my stomach twisted and turned inside of me because there was no way I was getting out of this without talking to Bucky about it.

And what would he think of me then?

Couldn’t I just stay here forever? Curled in Bucky’s arms and breathing with him and feeling the solid heat of him at my back?

Couldn’t I be the sort of person to believe for one shining moment that this was real and something I could keep—not because I was damaged and he felt guilty, but because he wanted this too?

I have never been the sort of person who could do that—and if I ever had been that person? It had been so long ago I couldn’t remember. There was what you _wanted_ —and then there was what _was._

I didn’t even realize I was trying to pull away from him (to do what? Fall on the floor? Who knows) until Bucky solidly gripped my arm and growled, ‘God damn it, Lily, why is it so hard for you to let someone look after you?’ Bucky’s accusation rang in my ears in the sudden silence.

‘Don’t know,’ I said, trying to bury the sudden resurgence of my sniffles. ‘Just not used to it, I guess.’ My parents had been warm and loving, but they’d also warmly and lovingly insisted on me learning to take care of myself because teaching me how to be independent was their job as parents. They’d never been the sort to hover over me when I was sick, and as soon as I got old enough for a new chore, that was forever and always my responsibility. Hardly the worst of parenting, right? But you add in my natural tendency to not want to be a bother to anyone and sometimes I might have taken that ‘independence’ a little far. 

It’s hard to lean on anyone when you can feel the countdown to the moment they get fed up or just plain worn out from dealing with you.

Somehow it was almost like Bucky could guess what I wasn’t saying and the tense atmosphere surrounding us softened from angry exasperation to determination. Uh-oh.

Bucky shimmied his body down the bed a little to change his position and lean his forehead against my back. ‘What happened?’ He asked quietly. Intimately.

My stomach surged and my heart felt like it was breaking. If I told him the truth, that might be the end of everything. Maybe I could get close enough that he wouldn’t be able to tell…

‘Fought with Laura.’ Short statement. Completely true. No need for further questions—

‘Why?’

Nooooo…

I inhaled a shuddery breath. This was hard. ‘Worried about me.’

Bucky hmm’d at my back and the light vibrations felt better than anything Reggie had been built to provide. ‘Why did you keep saying sorry?’

Eek. Umm. Help?

‘Hurt you.’

Bucky went extra still behind me. His breathing was still steady but the difference was night and day. ‘No you didn’t.’ He finally said and relaxed.

I couldn’t resist gripping his hand tighter as I said, ‘Did.’

Didn’t mean to. Didn’t want to. And as much as he said I didn’t, I knew I did because I could speak Silent Bucky and he’d been upset when he’d come to my door the first time. I’d done that. Me.

‘Didn’t.’ Bucky fed me a taste of my own medicine.

Finally I couldn’t hold back anymore and most of it came spilling out.

‘Laura wanted to talk and I didn’t know what she wanted to say but I didn’t want you guys to overhear and get the wrong idea—I mean, it doesn’t bother me that you and Steve can hear anything I say all over the house, that’s kind of cool—but Laura was worried and I didn’t want to mess things up so I thought I could put some music on and you wouldn’t be able to hear, but then you heard anyway and came upstairs and you were upset because you thought we were going to be saying mean things but I wasn’t! I’d never—but you were upset and I didn’t know what to do and then Laura was—‘

I snapped my mouth shut. The rest of it didn’t matter. The rest of it could go die in a fire for all I cared.

Bucky nudged at my back. ‘Laura was what?’ I felt like whimpering but I forced myself onward.

‘Laura was upset, and I was upset, and you were upset, and it was all my fault and I couldn’t fix _any_ of it—‘ Bucky shushed me and held me tighter against himself.

‘Wasn’t upset with you. I was upset with myself. Couldn’t even give you any privacy to let you talk to your friend. Could barely let Tony look at my arm. Can barely stand to talk to Steve—can’t seem to do anything right.’

No! Bucky, no! You do everything right…

‘So no. You didn’t hurt me. Got it? We talked about this, remember? You can’t just blame everything on yourself. It’s not all your fault, Lily.’

I did my best to swallow back my tears but I failed. They trickled hotly down my face and I pulled Bucky’s arm even closer to myself. He’d told me that after the whole mess with Peter, told me I couldn’t take responsibility for everything. Here I was, doing it again…guess some habits are really hard to break.

‘Sorry,’ I whispered again, unable to let that go. I had to say something.

‘No more sorry’s,’ Bucky murmured, his voice a calming rumble behind me. I could feel him press his head a little closer to me and the rush of emotions I felt for him made my insides swoop and dive. Maybe I couldn’t keep this forever, but I had it now. I had him now.

‘S’not your fault either, you know.’ I said. ‘And I think you’re doing a lot of things right.’

‘I’d settle for doing one thing right,’ Bucky breathed against my back and I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to hear that or not so I kept quiet and just breathed in time with him.

In…and out.

In…and out.

In…

…and out…


	34. Chapter 34

Eventually Bucky semi-snorted behind me in response to a conversation downstairs that I could only half-hear.

‘What?’ I yawned.

‘Steve’s getting impatient. Wants to watch a movie.’

Oh right. We were going to do that, before I turned into a giant mess of a—

Bucky bumped his head into my back as if he could tell my thoughts were traveling down an unpleasant path.

‘You feel up for it?’ He asked.

I considered. I was feeling moderate discomfort but the thought of spending the rest of the night up here alone wasn’t a good one so…

‘Yeah. Sure.’ I guess Bucky could hear my uncertainty because he said,

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I know, I just…I don’t feel great. I don’t think anything would feel great right now, but watching a movie with you guys is probably better than staying in bed and feeling sorry for myself.’

‘Okay.’ Bucky shifted behind me and I found myself scooped up in his arms. I mourned the steady heat of him against my back but I compromised and allowed myself to rest my head against his shoulder and pretend that everything was going to be okay.

Once we were downstairs I could see that Steve was definitely eager to watch a movie and spend more time with Bucky. Sam took a close look at me and asked, ‘You sure you want to do this?’ Bucky bristled and I patted his shoulder.

‘I’m okay. Not great,’ I forced a laugh, ‘But it’s either feel miserable upstairs or feel out of sorts down here, and watching movies is fun, so…’ I trailed off, knowing Sam would fill in the blanks. He nodded.

‘Any ideas for what movie to watch? Steve here got excited over a couple, but he couldn’t decide which one he wanted to watch more.’

‘What’d he pick?’ I asked as Bucky settled us on the couch in our movie watching position: ie me on top of him.

Steve popped his head up from where he was perusing my dvd collection. ‘Tony keeps telling me that I really have to see Jurassic Park, but…you have The Philadelphia Story and Harvey and Arsenic and Old Lace—‘

‘We watched that one already,’ Bucky spoke up. Steve’s smile dimmed a little, prompting Bucky to continue, ‘And if we watch it again you’re just going to deafen the rest of us with how loud you laugh, just like you did in ‘43. Dum-Dum swore he couldn’t hear right for two weeks.’

‘And what about you? You were sitting right next to me.’ Steve shot back.

‘Are you kidding me? You yelled so loud the first time I met you I haven’t been able to hear right since.’

Steve narrowed his eyes and glared at Bucky. ‘Jerk.’

‘Not my fault you’re a punk,’ Was Bucky’s mumbled reply.

I could see that Sam was having trouble keeping a straight face. ‘So what do we want to watch?’

‘How about Philadelphia Story?’ I said. ‘I really like that one.’

‘Suits me,’ Sam said, although I was pretty sure he’d rather watch something other than old movies.

Steve just beamed at all of us and when Bucky didn’t object he put the disc in the dvd player. I could feel Bucky sigh underneath me but I just poked him in his side. He was such a faker.

I managed to stay awake for most of the movie, both my internal and external discomforts slowly fading in the presence of the laughter and warmth that filled my living room. I couldn’t keep my eyes open forever, though, and Bucky made such a good pillow…

Bucky was shifting me around and I whimpered as the stitches in my side pulled and my right thigh protested being handled. I clung to Bucky blearily as he carried me upstairs into the bathroom.

‘Do you think you can stand?’ He asked. I nodded into his shoulder. Could stand. Didn’t want to. ‘Come on, that’s it…’ Bucky slowly stood me up next to the toilet. ‘Easy, that’s it. I’ll be right outside the door, okay?’

I nodded grumpily. He smoothed some hair back from my face and I couldn’t keep myself from chasing his hand a little when he pulled it away. The door shut behind him. I blinked slowly and tried to stop swaying. I should probably do something…

Oh. Right. Bathroom.

Getting up off the toilet was still very difficult but I managed to lift myself off with another whimper of pain. I had to brace myself against the wall as I did up my pants but before I flushed the toilet I said, ‘Bucky.’

Bucky re-entered the bathroom to the soundtrack of flushing fluids down the pipes. He made sure I washed my hands properly, then he filled the bathroom cup with water and shook two pills out of the bottle and handed them to me. 

Right. Painkillers are awesome. I swallowed them down and before I could even feel them slide down my throat Bucky was passing me a new toothbrush with toothpaste already on it.

Kudos for having the bedtime routine down pat, Bucky—but points are taken off because I’m exhausted and would much rather sleep than brush my teeth. I did it anyway, though, and was exhaustedly grateful when he didn’t make me do anything else. 

Back in the bedroom Bucky didn’t put me down right away.

‘Do you want to change clothes?’

Nooooo,,. want to sleeeep….

I sighed. ‘No?’ Was that an acceptable answer?

‘Okay,’ Bucky hummed as he put me down on the bed, but didn’t join me. Bucky? ‘I’ll be right back, okay?’

‘Okay.’ I said in a small voice. I was so tired…

I dozed lightly until Bucky came back who knows how much later. He tried to lay down next to me but I pulled myself in closer to him until he got the idea and lifted me up on top of him.

I sighed happily and dropped into a deep deep sleep that didn’t break until the next morning.

The painkillers might have made me super drowsy but nothing could have kept me asleep through the racket that was having a quin-jet land right outside my house.

Bucky tensed underneath me. ‘I’m going to kill him,’ he said grimly. I assumed he was talking about Tony. Who else would make such a racket?

‘I’ll help,’ I grumbled and clung tighter to Bucky in protest of mornings in general and this morning in specific. I heard the front door slam open and closed, and then what sounded like Steve trying to yell over the sound of the quin-jet engines. ‘What’s he saying?’ I sighed, and resigned myself to not getting any more sleep this morning.

‘Chewing Stark out for landing so close to the house, demanding explanations—Steve really gets on a roll when he’s reaming someone out.’ Bucky yawned and started threading his fingers through my hair. Mmm, nice…my desire to know what was going on dropped about five levels.

‘Now Starks’ yelling back, something about there not being a better place to park it, and how he needed to, ‘cause—‘ Bucky stiffened and his hand clenched in my hair.

‘Bucky? What is it?’ I asked in concern.

‘Trouble.’ He said shortly.

Trouble. Uh-oh.

Bucky tried to slide me off to the side. I grabbed onto him.

‘Nuh-uh. I’m coming with.’ I said around a yawn. Rather than waste time protesting, Bucky carried me downstairs. We met Sam in the kitchen.

‘Hey guys,’ Sam greeted us cordially, but his attention was on what was taking place out the front windows.

‘Hey Sam,’ I said back. Bucky didn’t say anything, just put me down in one of the kitchen chairs and then walked straight out of the front door. ‘Hey!’ I tried to call after him but he was gone already. ‘Supposed to take me with you,’ I grumbled to myself. Sam looked over at me.

‘I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s probably not good.’

‘No,’ I said on an exhale. ‘It’s probably not.’ If it was just Tony being a nuisance, he would have just shown up in the armor. If he brought the entire quin-jet, he was probably counting on a few extra passengers. My breath caught in my throat. Steve was probably going to leave, and Sam with him, to face whatever this new ‘trouble’ was. Steve and Bucky had had such little time together, and despite their wary/teasing circling of each other they were obviously two halves of a whole that was never meant to be apart for long.

Bucky cared about Steve. A lot. He’d risk anything to keep him safe. If Steve was going into danger again Bucky would want to be at his side.

Bucky…

I knew this day was coming. Knew Bucky wasn’t going to stay forever. Knew there was nothing here to keep him past the moment he knew who he was and what he wanted to do. 

My grim thoughts were interrupted by Steve, Tony, and Bucky barging back into the house.

‘Come on, chop chop! The Avengers express waits for no one.’ Tony gesticulated emphatically.

Sam raised an eyebrow. ‘Guess I’m packing, then.’

‘You guessed right, flutter-by. Get your kit and move out.’ 

Steve looked like he wanted to gag Tony but he gave Sam a short nod. This was it. Sam headed into the basement to pack his bag, while Steve went upstairs for his. They were soldiers. It wouldn’t take long.

‘Hey, come over here and give me a hand with this,’ Tony tossed a heavy box to Bucky without looking at him. Bucky caught it automatically and looked like he wanted to chuck it back at Tony’s head. Tony ambled up to where I was sitting and produced a smaller jewelry box that he presented to me with cavalier grace. I blinked at it. ‘Come on, come on, we don’t have all day—‘ Tony grabbed my hand and forcibly put the box in it.

For the lack of anything better to do, I opened it up. Inside was a cheesy plastic-y charm bracelet that featured the symbols of all the Avengers. You could buy something like it at any gas station or tourist shop. ‘Tony,’ I said deadpan. ‘You shouldn’t have.’

Tony rolled his eyes at me. ‘Yeah I know, I’m a giver. Once you put it on, it’s a tracking device. In fact, each of the charms are an individual tracking device, should you need to detach them and, I don’t know, leave a breadcrumb trail or something.’ Tony waved a hand dismissively. ‘Nobody should look twice at it, even scans won’t find much.’

I blinked in surprise. Wow. That was some major camouflage, and a whole mess of work to put into something that looked like crap. Which was the point, I guess.

Tony pulled something else out of his pocket and tossed it to Bucky. ‘That’ll follow the signal from the other side of the world. Not that you should test it. Really—don’t test it. No more kidnappings,’ Tony shook his finger at me like I was a recalcitrant child that kept running away from home. 

I had to swallow before I could answer. ‘Yes, sir. No more kidnappings.’ I’d had Tony’s measure since the hospital. Sincerity was only acceptable under the guise of jokes. And I knew he’d hate it if I called him sir.

Tony sneered at me but his eyes stayed on me until I put the bracelet on. He nodded. 

Almost simultaneously I heard feet pounding on the stairs from the basement and the upper floor. Tony smirked, then shouted, ‘Wheels up in thirty seconds!’ as he sauntered out the door before either man was visible.

I took a steadying breath. This was it. Time to say goodbye.

Steve entered the kitchen mere moments before Sam did. He shouldered his duffel and kneeled down next to me. 

‘It’s been an honor, Lily.’ He said, forthright and full of sincerity as he always was.

‘You too. Stay safe, okay?’ I asked with a twitchy smile, doing my best not to appear panicked or upset.

Steve nodded then made room for Sam who had a backpack slung over his shoulders. 

‘You take care of yourself, all right? Don’t push it. Recovery takes a while. Do what your physical therapist said, and not much more, okay?’ I nodded. Sam smiled and leaned in for a light hug. I dipped my head onto his shoulder for a brief moment. I was really going to miss him.

Sam let me go and I could see Bucky hovering nearby with Stark’s strange box in his hands. I braced myself for his far-more-painful goodbye but he didn’t come any closer. 

Bucky? Please don’t leave without saying goodbye. Please.

Steve and Sam stood in front of Bucky. Sam nodded to him and left the house. Bucky even nodded back. It was good that they liked each other a little. That would make things easier. 

Steve hesitated in front of him before Bucky shook his head and pulled Steve in for an intense hug.

What?

Why are they hugging? Bucky’s going with him. Right?

Right…?

‘Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,’ Steve said, his face mashed into Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky shuddered, a strange look on his face. Steve pulled back concerned, but Bucky shook his head. ‘How can I?’ he said hoarsely. ‘You’re taking all the stupid with you.’ There was a pregnant pause then they practically slammed themselves into another fierce hug. ‘You take care of yourself, punk.’

‘Only if you do the same, jerk.’

Outside the quin-jet engines revved in an unsubtle bid for Steve’s attention. Steve pulled away from Bucky with great reluctance but when he strode out the front door he was every inch Captain America. It shocked me how much of a difference there was. I’d spent so much time with Steve Rogers I thought they were one and the same. But seeing Steve in Captain mode—it was an entirely different animal. 

Bucky placed his strange box on the counter as he went to the door and braced himself on the frame as we heard the engines rev up to a roaring whine, then slowly fade away as it left. Bucky’s back was tight with tension and although I couldn’t see his face clearly I had no doubt as to what his emotions were, watching his best friend fly away from him toward danger.

Bucky, why didn’t you go with him? I know you want to protect him and he could use your help—why are you still here?

He didn’t stand in the doorway too long, maybe only a handful of seconds before he backed up and shut the door. I tried to clear my face of the confusion and other emotions running rampant but from the flick of his assessing eyes, I saw I failed. 

‘Lily, what’s wrong?’

I hardly knew what to say. ‘You’re…not going?’

This shocked him. ‘Did you think I’d leave you?’

I floundered for a second before saying, ‘I—I didn’t really think of it as ‘leaving me’ so much as it was ‘protecting Steve.’’ I smiled bracingly. ‘I know how much you worry about him.’

Bucky dragged a chair in front of mine at the table and sat down. ‘Worry about you too, you know. And Steve has people to watch his back.’ Bucky sounded certain of himself but I knew him by now. He was far more upset at staying behind than he wanted to let on.

‘Okay,’ I said. Because there wasn’t much else to say. I mean, there was a lot else I could say, but the rules of polite conversation forbid screaming, ‘Liar! Liaar!!’

‘Okay,’ Bucky said firmly. ‘How about some breakfast?’ And with that the topic was closed, slammed shut, and bolted down. Bucky got up and pulled eggs and bacon out of the fridge, the which we had a whole lot of now that there weren’t extra mouths to feed.

Okay Bucky. Topic closed. I got it.

But I saw the look in his eyes when Steve walked out that door, and I saw the way he stood in that door to watch him fly off, and if Bucky wanted to lie to himself about how he was fine not being out there fighting Hydra or monsters or what-have-you, then okay.

Okay.

But he couldn’t lie to me. It was clear that it was only a matter of time before he left. Bucky wasn’t the sort to stay in safety while someone he loved was in danger. 

And when was Steve ever not in danger?

I could feel that clock in the back of my head start ticking—the one that always showed up when someone had a limit on how much time they could spend on me before getting worn out. I wasn’t sure how much time we had left but I could feel it getting smaller by the second.

Tick went the clock. Tick. He wants to leave you. Tick. You ask too much from him. Tick. Why are you never satisfied, why must you drain everyone dry? Tick.

Tick…

Tick…

Tick…


	35. Chapter 35

Breakfast was quiet, the two of us thinking our own private thoughts. After it was over I shifted in my seat to find a more comfortable position and the air that wafted up from my body made me grimace.

Urgh. I smelled awful. 

‘Think I need a shower,’ I said to Bucky. He nodded, and finished scraping the last food off his plate. He had of course, eaten nearly three times as much as me, even with the return of my normal appetite. 

Bucky carried me upstairs and we had a quick argument about how to handle the shower. Or rather, bath, as Bucky insisted. All my wounds had closed over enough that it wouldn’t be a problem, and I certainly wasn’t up for standing the entire time. 

But no way was Bucky going to be lifting my naked body in and out of the bathtub. Uh-uh.

So we compromised, with me taking off my clothes alone and then wrapping myself in a towel that I could take off once I was in the tub. It worked out okay, although Bucky had his grim face on like he was calculating all the bad things that could happen to me. I can happily say that none did—unless you count having to sit in semi-tepid bathwater while it slowly goes down the drain and then wrapping yourself in a towel as best you can so Bucky could lift you out of the tub again. Fun times. (if me and nakedness and Bucky were going to be involved, I kinda imagined it a bit differently, y’know?)

Urgh. Well. It was better than being lifted in and out of the tub naked and/or him insisting on washing me. He tried that. I glared. He glared back, then gave up. 

Drying myself off was another production that used more towels that I usually did but it got me dry so ah well. Putting new clothes on was uncomfortable but slightly easier than it was the day before. Getting better all the time…

Of course Bucky had to retape all my bandages but at least I had underwear and clothes on.

It was only when we were both back downstairs and Bucky was doing the dishes in the kitchen that I remembered the box that Tony had tossed Bucky before he left.

‘What’s in the box?’ I asked. I was seated at the kitchen table gnawing on some chocolate that I’d convinced Bucky to give me. (he hadn’t taken that much convincing. He’d even taken a piece for himself, ha!)

Bucky’s shoulders twitched, his version of a shrug. I was surprised he hadn’t checked yet, maybe during my bath. Unless…he’d spent the entire time hovering just outside the door in case I needed anything…Oh Bucky.

Bucky half turned to throw a glare at the innocent looking box sitting on the counter. I smiled to myself. Knowing Tony, it could be anything from a confetti bomb to super awesome weapons.

Or both. Because he’s that kind of jerk sometimes.

Bucky must have drawn the same conclusions because he picked it up and shoved it in front of me, along with a knife that I could open the tape with. I raised an eyebrow at him as he backed away to lean against the countertop. Way to throw me under the bus, Bucky.

I delicately slit the tape with Bucky’s knife and despite my own reservations wasted no time in opening the box. There was a small sheaf of papers on top of a bunch of flat metal ovals. Each oval was about the size of my thumb and had ridged sides like a coin all the way around. 

‘Huh.’ I said. Bucky sauntered over to take a look. He pulled out the paper and one of the ovals and studied both intensely.

‘They’re a perimeter system,’ Bucky said slowly. ‘Any size or shape you want, up to a mile diameter.’

‘Motion sensors?’ I asked. That didn’t seem like a great idea. I lived in a forested area and something was always moving.

‘No. Weapon sensors.’

Oh. Wow. Now _that_ was something to talk about. I could see Bucky begin to relax as what this meant fully penetrated. He tilted his head and tossed the oval he was holding into the air and caught it. He made a face.

‘Does this mean I have to be nice to him?’

I laughed. ‘I don’t think a ‘thank you’ would be a bad idea.’ Bucky grimaced then nodded. ‘Does that paper tell you how to set them up?’

‘Uh-huh. And how to send the signal to a phone—more than one, even. Yours still upstairs?’

‘Yeah. Bu—‘

Bucky was already halfway up the stairs. All right then. I was going to have a perimeter alarm worked into my phone. It was a brand-new phone, so it was going to be my very first app.

Huh.

Bucky returned with my phone and another one that he produced out of his pocket—his own, I assumed. He read through the directions again and did several tests with the ovals in different configurations on the countertop. Eventually he was just spinning them aimlessly and wasting time.

I could tell Bucky was struggling with his desire to set up the perimeter immediately, but also to not leave me alone and ‘vulnerable.’ His metal hand flexed and clenched at his side as he pretended to read the directions again.

‘Bucky.’

He shifted to look at me.

‘When do you want to set them up?’ I asked with a smile. It wasn’t a question of ‘if,’ but ‘ _when_.’ Bucky knew that and his shoulders settled as he made up his mind.

‘Now.’ 

‘Okay. How long do you think it’ll take?’

Bucky hesitated. ‘Half an hour?’ He said reluctantly.

‘Okay. I’ll probably take a nap. I need to do my PT exercises later.’

‘Not alone,’ Bucky said quickly.

‘No,’ I huffed. ‘Not alone. That’s why I said _later_. When you’re back.’

‘Damn straight,’ Bucky muttered.

Hmph. I remember my promise Bucky—were you actually doubting me?

‘Could you maybe bring me up to my bedroom before you go?’

From Bucky’s alacritous movement toward me, he certainly didn’t mind. After he brought me upstairs and placed me on the bed, he even lay out a knife and a gun on the bedside table, just in case.

The last thing I wanted to do was shoot someone again—

Wait.

Never mind.

The last thing I wanted to do was _die_ , but the second to last thing I wanted to do was kill someone else. But when push came to shove I already knew how that would shake out. I’d already made that choice.

Bucky still wasn’t comfortable leaving me but after hovering for half a second he turned and left without a word, shoulders tight and fists ready for action. 

I didn’t take it to heart. He’d feel much better after the perimeter was up.

As much as I could wish that I’d been joking about that nap, I really wasn’t. Bathing had taken far more energy than I could believe and after only five minutes of laying down I fell into a fitful doze.

I woke up with a start when I heard the door to the house open and close, my heart racing until I recognized Bucky’s light tread on the stairs. I exhaled a deep breath and tried to wiggle my way over on the bed so he’d have room.

Ouch. Note to self: no more wiggling. 

Bucky padded into the room and knelt at the bedside. I cracked my eyes open and smiled at him. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he gazed back. He held up my phone.

‘It’s all programed in there. In mine too. I tested it a couple times. It won’t read someone with just knives, but…’ Bucky trailed off with a dangerous expression, something close to a grim sort of glee, ‘no one’s coming after me with just knives.’

‘And if they did you’d tear them apart,’ I hummed happily. 

There was a pregnant pause before Bucky said hoarsely, ‘Yeah. I would.’ Silence stretched between us for a moment. ‘That doesn’t bother you?’

There were a lot of things I could have said to that:

Of course it bothers me for people to have to die. 

Or: I’ve killed too many people for me to be hypocritical now.

Or: It bothers me more that people are out to get you. 

Or: They deserve to die.

Go on, tear them apart Bucky. I’ll be your cheering section.

But I settled on, ‘I trust you.’ It probably wasn’t enough but it was the best thing I could think to say. I was conflicted, but not enough that I would prefer the both of us to be dead.

I’d much rather be alive to pursue the moral quandary of right and wrong, than dead and unable to decide either way.

Bucky’s breath wavered after I said, ‘I trust you,’ and he leaned up against the wall by the bed where he had before and looked away from me. Whether to hide from himself or from me, I was unsure.

Had I said the wrong thing? Should I have verbally spewed all that I was thinking about instead of trying to find the most succinct option?

Bucky interrupted my panicked thoughts. ‘Can we listen to those stories again?’

Stories? Oh! The Tales of the Kingdom! Right. Yes.

I beamed at him. ‘Of course.’ I did my best to turn over without exacerbating my injuries and grabbed my computer. It was the work of a minute to boot it up and select the next track in the list: Hero’s Quest. It was one of the more light-hearted stories and it was a perfect way to relax. Bucky stayed on the floor by the bed but he seemed happy to be down there so I didn’t ask him if he wanted to move. 

I didn’t mean to fall asleep again, but I woke up when Bucky reached over me to stop the computer.

‘Hey,’ I said groggily. ‘Din’t mean to fall asleep.’

Bucky stroked a kind hand over my shoulder. ‘It’s okay. You needed the rest.’

‘All I did was sleep yesterday.’ I complained and rubbed at my eyes. I checked my watch. ‘Whoa—how long was I out? Two hours?’ I said, shocked.

‘You needed the rest,’ Bucky repeated stubbornly. 

Grrr. I yawned against my will. Grr. ‘It’s almost lunch.’

‘Sandwiches?’

‘Grilled cheese?’ I asked hopefully.

Bucky nodded. He ran a hand over my hair. ‘Stay here for now, okay?’

I compressed my lips and nodded reluctantly. You only have half-a-day more of Compliant Lily, Bucky. You’d better be prepared for tomorrow to look awfully different. 

Bucky left and made us lunch, bringing up grilled cheese and tomato soup in short order. He propped me up on the bed with lots of pillows and we ate in a companionable silence. Bucky seemed much more relaxed than he was this morning after Steve and Sam left. About half-way through lunch he shook out another white pill onto my plate and pocketed the bottle again. 

At least he hadn’t tried to get me to take two.

I swallowed it down, knowing that it would help a lot when I tried to do my PT a little bit later. 

‘So,’ I eventually said, chewing on my last bite of grilled cheese. ‘You must have nearly finished the Tales.’

‘Nah. I went back and listened to the first couple.’ Bucky said, already done with his food. ‘You—how long have you had them?’

‘Long time now,’ I said after a hasty swallow of soup. ‘I was a kid when I first listened to them. Never stopped loving them, I guess.’

‘Yeah, it shows.’

Huh? I look at him quizzically. Bucky shrugs.

‘It’s just, I guess—‘ he shook his head. ‘I keep hearing you, when I listen to them. The apprentice juggler, learning to stay true to himself. Mercy in her cottage, inviting the orphan keeper’s assistant to stay. I hear the story, but I keep seeing you doing it. Living it.’ Bucky’s eyes found mine. My heart stuttered in my chest and I didn’t know what to say.

So I opened my mouth and let words pour out. What else was there to do?

‘I’ve always like those stories. They always felt more real than all the rules people told me to follow—like they were the REAL reasons behind all the rules. You know?’ I shook my head in despair of explaining how I truly felt. It was just a muddled mess. ‘Things are not what they seem,’ I quoted with a huff. ‘Things are not what they seem—‘

‘Here in Great Park we know this to be true,’ Bucky and I said at the same time, then smiled at each other.

‘Everything’s always far more complicated than you can tell.’ I said. ‘It’s just—when you know that, why wouldn’t you take it into account?’

‘Because it makes your head hurt?’ Bucky drawled.

I snickered. ‘Well yeah. It does that. But if it helps you get closer to the truth…’ I trailed off and shrugged.

‘How much pain is the truth worth?’

‘Depends on the person, I guess, and whether or not they value their pain over someone else’s.’

‘There you go, being reasonable again.’ Bucky pointed a finger at me.

‘Touché.’ I admitted. ‘I might love the truth of things, but you can’t take it all the time. Why do you think I’m practically a hermit? Too many people out there: too much truth.’

‘Too many idiots, you mean.’

‘That too.’ I laughed. ‘People, what a bunch of bastards,’ I said in a horrible Irish accent. Bucky stared at me in worried confusion, like he wasn’t sure if I’d had a stroke or just gone off my rocker. ‘Sorry, it’s from a tv show. The IT Crowd.’ Bucky nodded, _riiight._

I yawned and cracked my jaw. ‘Goodness. Well. Should probably do my PT now.’ Bucky did his best not to overtly frown, but I could tell he was less than pleased. Come on, Bucky. I skipped it yesterday because yesterday was awful but I’ve got to do it today.

Bucky helped me up. ‘Where should you do it?’

‘Here’s fine,’ I said. ‘It’s just a bit of walking. Tiny bit of stretching. You know. All the fun things to do after getting hurt.’

I could tell Bucky wanted to say, then don’t do them, but kudos to him he didn’t. Yes yes, I’m fully aware you don’t want me to hurt myself, thank you Bucky.

So I did my small amount of walking. Bucky hovered, providing balance when I needed it. I did the bare minimum required, knowing I had to ease Bucky into it, as well as myself. The stretches were far less fun but I could do them sitting down which Bucky liked a lot more. He stayed by my side, ready to support me like I was doing weights and he was my spotter. No weights here, Bucky, unless you count my body as a dead weight.

Too bitter?

I’ll get over it.

It was a good thing I’d taken the pain pill at lunch because otherwise this would have hurt a lot more than it did. I was careful—like Bucky would have let me be anything else—but I wasn’t healed, and that meant things still hurt. Would still hurt for a while, if what the estimate the doctors gave me was in any way accurate.

Six months for the worst of it (namely the leg) to be almost fully healed. Six months of limping. Of parking as close to something as you could get because oww no ten spaces back is too far to walk. 

Six months I was alive and not dead on a mountain in Rushton State park for some poor Park Ranger to find. 

So you know. Not all bad.

Afterward I settled panting onto the bed and Bucky rushed to get me a glass of water. When he came back he had the pill bottle in his hand but I shook my head no.

‘Don’t need it. I’m fine. Save it for later tonight.’ It sure made sleeping easier. Bucky looked displeased but he put it away. 

‘Movie?’ he asked.

‘Sure.’ I panted happily. I love movies.

We had an awesome movie marathon afternoon complete with popcorn and chocolate. We watched Beauty and the Beast, Sleeping Beauty, The Incredibles, and Aladdin. When Bucky made dinner he hummed some of the songs under his breath and when I heard which one it was I did my best to sing along. We ate homemade mac and cheese and traded stories about some of the worst food we’d ever eaten. I was surprised—Bucky usually didn’t bring up the past, and I didn’t like to ask—but it was a barrel of laughs once we got going.

‘There was this meatloaf,’ I said. ‘At my Aunt’s when I was a kid. It looked like wet cat food riddled with maggots—no, I’m serious! Maggots! They were just onions, it turned out, but augh! It was vile.’

‘No, you want vile? Try rancid meat actually covered in maggots.’ Bucky one-upped me with a smirk.

‘No fair!’ I cried. ‘No using your years of torture and awfulness against me! How am I supposed to compete with that?’

‘Don’t know,’ Bucky grinned toothily. ‘Try.’

‘Ugh. Okay, so my mom made this chicken pot pie once…’

We chatted and laughed for hours. Eventually we moved into the living room with cups of hot chocolate and played checkers on the couch. Neither of us had played in years but we both took a childish glee in capturing each other’s pieces and gloating about it. I once got a four jump run and Bucky howled in rage. Ha. He had only himself to blame. He won three times to my two, but if we’d kept going I knew I might have been able to match him, but he insisted on going to bed.

‘You just don’t want me to win,’ I said grumpily as he picked me up and turned off all the lights as we went.

‘I won the last two.’

‘I won the two before that!’ I protested.

‘Still lost,’ He teased.

I growled under my breath and pretended to be mad. Bucky didn’t believe a bit of it, smart man.

Our nightly ablutions were almost the same as last night. I used the bathroom, stood on my own, then summoned Bucky with his name. He brought me to the sink, I washed my hands, took my pills, brushed my teeth, and was hauled back to bed.

This time Bucky crawled into bed at the same time as me so I didn’t have to try falling asleep without him. He stroked my hair as we giggled to ourselves at the funny/awful stories we shared earlier and couldn’t stop remembering. 

‘But did he really—‘

‘Fell right backward into the fire—‘

‘No!’

‘Picked himself up and didn’t even notice his shoes were still on fire.’

‘No!’

Eventually the laughter gave way to tired huffs of breath and even that slowed until sleep crept up with its warm blanket and carried the both of us away.


	36. Chapter 36

The next month was one of the happiest in my life. I mean, maybe I had a happier one when I was a kid and just don’t remember it because who thinks about things like that when you’re a kid? You _maybe_ might remember a really happy day or even a week—but a month? 

Unless you’re one of those lucky kids who can remember a whole summer filled with bliss and happiness and probably puppies and rainbows.

I would hate you if I weren’t so envious. Grr.

Any road, yeah. This month. It rocked.

Every morning I’d wake up on-top-of/next-to Bucky who was not averse to morning cuddles, let me tell you. He’d fluff my hair, sometimes tangling it into absurd knots that he’d snort with laughter over (as well as my grumpy face) and then spend all the time needed to untangle it and smooth it out again.

At first I couldn’t do much physically, in the mornings especially—I often had to fight Bucky not to lift me out of bed and to just let me do things at my own pace. The first week I still let him carry me down the stairs; my balance was still a little off and I didn’t want to take a tumble, but I made him put me down at the bottom. I stubborned my way up the stairs at least once a day though, with a hovering anxious-no-I’m-not-anxious Bucky at my back. 

Slowly Bucky let me help more and more with cooking our meals but breakfast remained his domain and I was happy to let him. It was nice to be fussed over a little bit—

I said a little bit, Bucky! Not all the time!

–and Bucky was really good at cooking breakfast.

I preferred to do my PT in the morning and sometimes Bucky convinced me to do it outside where he could keep an eye on me while doing his own exercises. The outside had bugs but it also had sunshine and sometimes sweaty shirtless Bucky, so…yeah. Outside was pretty nice. 

I wasn’t sure exactly when Bucky became more comfortable with me seeing his metal arm, because it wasn’t like he made a big deal over it either way. The time I saw him naked in the bathroom was really the only time I ever saw it/him like that, and the rest of the time he was clothed. I guess he took my awkward ‘I’m not used to naked men’ talk to heart. 

Curses.

But somewhere during our adventures I guess he felt relaxed enough around me that in the privacy of my yard he felt like the shirt could come off at least. I tried not to stare but oh wow pretty muscles and shiny metal arm. Bucky caught me looking a couple times and I blushed and looked away and luckily he didn’t make a big deal over it.

Until one day after I’d finished my PT and was just staring at him doing his fighting forms when he decided he was finished and strolled over to join me on my patch of grass. He was sweaty—oh wow—and using his discarded shirt to wipe away some of his sweat.

‘It’s okay,’ He said, breathing just a little faster than normal. ‘You can touch it, if you want.’ For a wild moment I thought he was talking about his muscles and I nearly combusted at the thought of letting my fingers trail over the bumps and ridges of his well defined abs, but reality intruded when Bucky hitched his left arm in further explanation.

Right. The shiny metal arm. That I do want to touch because so cool!

So I smiled brightly at him—I got to touch the metal arm! (not that I hadn’t touched it before, just in passing. I tried not to treat it differently than his other arm, but that meant I could never really study it the way I wanted to) I made a happy gimme motion with both my hands. Bucky snorted and shifted in front of me so I could start my exploration with his finger tips.

The hand was cooler than skin temperature, but not as cold as it could have been. Maybe the mechanics had to bleed a lot of heat in order to function. I leaned in close so I could examine the fine details of the way his fingers moved and curled. The joints were similarly constructed to the way a normal hand’s were, but the way the metal overlapped and still worked smoothly was fascinating. I spent a good five minutes just bending his fingers at each joint and lightly shaking them in fascination. 

Bucky bore with my curiosity and child-like glee at just how awesome his arm was pretty well. He stayed still: at first out of a studied nonchalance, but the more I hummed and wiggled with glee the more his stillness became the product of relaxation and not anxiety.

I moved on to his wrist, tracing each of the horizontal lines as I rose higher and higher up his arm, turning it back and forth and flexing each flexible bit as much as I could. The patterns grew more intricate and on his forearm there were gaps between the metal segments that I could see the inner workings of his arm through. Bucky suddenly tightened his fist and the plates flexed. I gasped and then ooh-ed. Bucky smirked and did it again. I poked at his forearm and he did it again with a forbearing lift of his eyes. I bounced up and down a little where I sat.

What? He has a _metal robot arm_. It exactly mimics human movement in a way that nothing else I’ve seen is even close to. Do you know what most engineers say about trying to reverse engineer from the human body? They say it’s impossibly complex and humbling to try and get anywhere near close to mimicking our natural biology.

And Bucky’s arm? It’s not just a really great _copy_ of a human arm—it’s actually an improvement in some ways! It’s stronger and bullet-proof and yeah it has its downsides—Bucky admitted that the weight was uncomfortable some days, even with his enhanced body—but it was a _fully functioning arm._

I mean, fuck Hydra for experimenting on him against his will—rot in hell you bastards—

But that arm—

Eee!!

And I’m not even a scientist or an engineer.

Bucky shifted closer as my hands travelled further up his arm. Now I had to lift it every so often as I traced the underside and my eyes widened as I noticed that the metal also covered his entire armpit—oh wow. Just—wow. To be flexible enough and have enough give that it wasn’t uncomfortable and didn’t grate against itself and also have a large enough range of motion—just—

Wow.

Bucky raised his arm over his head so I could trace the armpit area and poke it a couple times. He snorted.

‘I’m not ticklish there.’

I ducked my head. ‘Well no, I didn’t think you were, it’s just—‘ Bucky cocked his head and I expelled the rest of my words in a rush, ‘it’s just so cool the way it works and doesn’t mess itself up and you can use it like a real arm and the shifty metal bits are really awesome but I like the whirry whirry noises a lot too.’

Bucky blinked. I don’t think he was expecting that much enthusiasm.

‘You like the whirry whirry noises.’

I scrunched up my face. ‘Yes?’ Is that okay?

He looked bemused. ‘You sure are something else, Lily.’

‘But it’s so pretty!’ I blurted out. Bucky was startled into a laugh, his whole face transforming and lighting up as he wheezed for air.

‘S-seventy years—they had m-me—‘ he gasped, ‘had me k-k-kill with it. And, and pretty? It’s pretty?’ Bucky guffawed and gave up on being upright as he tilted backwards and just rolled in the grass. ‘S-sure, Lily. Pretty.’ He chuckled and rubbed a laugh-tear from the corner of an eye.

I was sitting down so I couldn’t shuffle my feet awkwardly but man did I ever want to! Talk about your basic tact, Lily! Maybe don’t tell the man who was the favorite plaything of evil scientists that you think his robot arm is pretty. Maybe have some sympathy for his probably complicated feelings about having an endless reminder of things he didn’t want to remember literally attached to him.

Goodness gracious, Lily.

I guess my shame was coming through loud and clear because Bucky sat up and edged close to me again.

‘Hey, hey, why the long face?’

‘Sorry,’ I said quietly.

‘Sorry for what?’ Bucky moved my hair out of my face so he could see me better. I looked up.

‘Didn’t mean to invalidate all the bad things you must feel about your arm.’

Bucky squinted. ‘You been talking to Sam?’

‘No,’ I said, surprised.

‘Okay. You just sound like you’ve been talking to Sam.’ Bucky teased gently as he nudged my leg.

I rolled my eyes. ‘No, but I should have been more sensitive.’

Bucky narrowed his eyes, then plopped his arm back in my lap. I started. ‘I like the way you think about my arm,’ he said, and wiggled his fingers. I gave him a small smile and started to play with them again, tugging them back and forth as he spoke. ‘I like the way you look at it, like it’s something amazing, and I’m amazing for having it.’

Well you are, Bucky, I wanted to say. But I didn’t, because that was coming on a little strong for someone who was _trying_ to pretend that she wasn’t in love with him.

I mean, I was in love with him don’t get me wrong. I was just trying not to be obvious about it. 

‘I like your arm,’ I finally said. ‘It’s your arm. And it’s complicated and really cool. But I didn’t want to treat it any differently than your other one, which is still pretty cool, I’ll have you know.’

‘My other arm?’ Bucky raised an eyebrow.

‘Well, everybody’s arm, really, but yeah yours too.’

‘What’s so cool about everybody’s arms?’ Bucky leaned in. I gave a wide smile and bounced a little again as I prepared to explain. Anatomy was my favorite section of biology in high school and I was always excited to talk about it. Bucky compressed his lips like he was trying not to smile at me.

Oh go on, Bucky, make fun of me a little, it’s okay. I know how I get.

‘Well! Lets start with the way muscles work—‘

That was a fun afternoon. Bucky and I eventually moved inside so we could look up extra information on the computer about human anatomy and we listened to several lectures on the subject just for fun. Bucky seemed impressed at how far we’d come in our understanding of biology, or at least, how much that understanding was available to the general public. He kept giving me this soft smile every so often when I’d go off on a tangent and I tried to rein myself in but he’d just shake his head and ask more questions so I ended up talking half the day. 

My throat was sore after a while but Bucky made me tea and then we watched Jurassic Park because somewhere along the way of discussing DNA and how complex it is I’d mentioned cloning and then it wasn’t far to talking about movies about cloning etc. etc. 

I did warn Bucky ahead of time about the whole ‘ripped off arm falling out of nowhere’ thing, because that didn’t seem like a good idea to let him discover on his own. He nodded thoughtfully and told me to stop the movie if it triggered something. I nodded seriously. No more pillow throwing: this time, music! In the end it wasn’t needed, thank God, my warning right before it happened enough for Bucky to steel himself.

He ended up really liking the movie, despite all the ‘mad science’ implications and the whole arm thing. He also seemed to like the idea of having seen something before Steve, and being able to rib him about it. It made me laugh.

Most of our days were spent in a similar fashion. We’d either watch movies or read books or just talk about random things for hours. Bucky never explicitly said how much he could or couldn’t remember about his past but it seemed to me he became more relaxed about it and far more comfortable about bringing it up than he was before.

One day we traded stories about our families and there was a lot of laughter as we remembered the good times (he once dipped his younger sister’s hair in ink while she was sleeping, I once told a teacher that I was a tortoise because my sister told me I was) and if the rest of the day was spent quietly and contained some tears for all the lost memories, well. Neither of us were the judgey sorts.

Bucky did all of our grocery shopping, as I wasn’t yet up for that much exercise. He always put on an easy smile as he left, but he couldn’t hide from me: he hated leaving me alone and even when he came back it took him some time to loosen up and calm down. 

Our handy-dandy perimeter never even blipped but Bucky always went out to check it at least once a day, maybe more. I told myself I’d talk with him about it if it ever seemed to tip over into the realm of obsession (chiding others for their mildly unhealthy habits while your own are far from healthy is the great American pastime, donchaknow) but we never had that conversation. Bucky worried about me and I worried about Bucky but somehow we managed to keep from collapsing into a black hole of worry that dragged the rest of the world down with us.

Somehow.

And maybe that was because Sam kept texting us every other day or so, giving us something else to focus on. Most of the time it was pictures: him standing heroically on a pile of rubble, him sneaking a picture of Steve yelling at Tony (Bucky always snorted at those), and even one time a picture set up like an old-time safari hunting trip with the mighty hunters standing with their weapons in front of some strange beast that actually made the news after it ran around Seoul for a couple of hours. 

Other times Sam would send little reminders like: Have you done something nice for yourself today? Eat a cookie. Or: don’t forget your cocoa butter lotion to help your scars heal up. 

It was nice to have someone else who cared.

I know he texted Bucky’s phone too but he rarely shared what they talked about which was fine. It was probably a lot more personal than what he sent me.

Steve called him every couple days, Bucky simultaneously lighting up and tightening down every time he saw his name on the caller id. Their conversations were always private but I’d shout a quick hello before Bucky skedaddled. He’d smile sheepishly then disappear.

Every time Steve called he got a little bit darker for a couple hours afterward. It was eating away at him, not being out there protecting Steve when he needed it. Bucky always put it aside and pretended to be more cheerful than he actually felt but every time it happened it was like a spring being tightened just a notch more, just a notch more. 

It couldn’t last forever.

But that was a problem for another day. The day when the spring finally snapped.

Until then I did my best to take each day as it came and enjoy what I had.

Things were still tense with Laura and me but I made sure not to cut her out of my life again. Not that she would have let me, this time. She and Charlie and Jackson visited the house every couple days, the wary atmosphere between her and Bucky a little hard to take at times, but ultimately I was happy to see her. 

She was my friend, and we were both stubborn but we still cared for each other.

Charlie was practically a saint for dealing with all of us and he seemed to have the least trouble discussing memories from the past with Bucky. He’d mention something he heard on the history channel or something he read and he’d ask: was it really like that? Bucky had answers more often than not, even if those answers were, ‘How the hell should I know that? I wasn’t exactly high society, pal.’ But it was always said with an easy grin and relaxed laugh, making it clear that he didn’t care.

They seemed to get on better than me and Laura at times, but we made it work. I knew Laura was waiting for the ball to drop to show me how wrong I was for thinking that it wouldn’t—what she didn’t realize was that I always knew that the ball was going to drop and I didn’t care. 

I still had nightmares every so often, where my family died and I couldn’t save them, or where Bucky died and I couldn’t save him. Sometimes they mixed, with Bucky ending up on that boat or my family on the mountaintop.

Yeah. Fun times.

Bucky would always wake me up before it got really bad and we managed to avoid another major panic attack, thank God. 

Some of that was because during the day I tried to set aside a little time to just listen to music and repeat to myself, ‘I’m fine, I’m safe, everything’s okay.’ It was a little like meditation, except that I wasn’t trying to blank my mind, just fill it with something less terrifying. Sometimes Bucky would join me. Sometimes not. 

It was remarkably easy to shift into our new way of living together. It was far closer than we had been before I was kidnapped, but still not all that different. We spent time together and apart. We talked and we stayed silent. We cooked together and sometimes we tried new things that Bucky had never eaten before with varying success.

Risotto was a yes.

Banana bread was a no. (‘It just doesn’t taste right.’)

We laughed and joked and cried and clung to each other under the shadow of a future we pretended didn’t matter.

But even idylls don’t last forever.

 

It happened in the middle of the night.

I was sleeping on top of Bucky— _my favorite place_ —when Bucky’s cell rang. It woke the both of us but I didn’t even have time to slide off to the side before Bucky answered it.

No one called that late at night—even when Steve was on the other side of the world he only called when we’d be awake.

‘Steve—‘ Bucky said urgently.

‘No time, Buck,’ I heard Steve—no, Captain America say through the tinny-sounding phone speaker. ‘We need you.’

Bucky tensed underneath me. During our time together he’d transitioned from an ominous figure always on the knife edge of violence, into my charmingly dangerous friend who could tell a joke even when his eyes were screaming.

All that charm and panache were stripped away in an instant.

Steve needed him.

‘Where?’ Bucky’s tone was clipped. Graveled.

‘Quin-jet can be at your location in forty.’ Steve’s voice was still all Captain-y, but I could hear relief bleeding through.

Did you really doubt him, Steve? Doubt that when you called he wouldn’t come running to be at your side to protect you as he always has?

I never doubted. 

Time had run out. The spring had snapped. Bucky was leaving.

I slid off of Bucky as he ended the call. I could do that easily now. Move like it almost didn’t hurt. I could look after myself just fine now.

Just fine.

Bucky rolled out of bed and turned the light on. I know he had a go-bag already packed but he had forty minutes. He could take more than the bare essentials.

It wasn’t like he had much any way. His whole life here could be packed into two duffels—and one of those would be solely a weaponry bag. 

Bucky stalked to the bathroom and I eased myself to my feet. I walked over to my beautiful new bookshelves and took a book from them. Bucky walked back inside, all tightly controlled menace and shoved his toothbrush into his bag. He was avoiding looking at me.

I was avoiding looking at him. It hurt too much, like a desperate gasp for air when you’ve been underwater too long. I clutched the book in my hand. Nothing felt solid enough.

‘Here.’ I held the book out to him. ‘I’ve been meaning to get you into Pratchett.’

Bucky took the book and shoved it into his bag without looking at it. It hurt more than I would have thought it would.

‘Guards, Guards.’ I whispered. ‘I think you’ll like it.’ I braced a hand on the bookcase and fought back tears. 

‘I’ll check the perimeter before I go.’ Bucky said suddenly. Harshly. ‘Make sure it’s intact.’

Of course it was intact. His phone would have alerted us immediately if even one of the ovals had gone down.

Bucky shouldered his bag and walked past me, his footsteps sounding heavier on the stairs than they usually did.

Sweep away, Bucky. Sweep away.

I slowly made my way downstairs after him, unable to sit up there alone now that our time had come to an end. It took me long enough to traverse the stairs that Bucky had already left to do his perimeter check.

I stared at the closed door. Soon, I would be the only one using it again.

Bucky was leaving.

On auto-pilot I got cheese and sandwich meat out of the fridge and started making up sandwiches. I mean, I knew the Avengers would have food and everything. If they were used to Steve’s appetite then they’d be able to handle Bucky’s—but it didn’t feel right letting him leave without something. I made three sandwiches, and I wrapped up the last of the brownies for him to take too. I put them in a small bag on the counter by the door.

Bucky’s sweeps usually took between ten and fifteen minutes, and he was back as soon as I seated myself at the kitchen table. He flicked a glance at the bag.

‘Food. For the road,’ I said. He wordlessly stowed it with his other bags.

Silence dripped between us in viscous runnels. It clogged the air and made it hard to breathe around the ache of absent noise.

I had imagined him leaving a thousand times and every time I knew it would hurt—

_Bucky, please—_

But this slow death was more than I bargained for.

The very night I met him I saw death in human form sitting in my kitchen as the clock ticked a terrifying backdrop. He had fought to come back—fought to be more than what the world had made him to be.

It was a different sort of fight he was going to now. It was time for death to come again, this time in the form of an avenging angel to protect that which was dearest to him.

_Oh, Bucky_

He was leaving, and he was right to leave. Steve needed him. The world needed him. Bucky was a protector, a guardian angel, and he was needed elsewhere. You don’t blame people like that for leaving. You say thank you God that I had you this long.

And maybe—

_Maybe_

In your heart of hearts you beg to be given the chance to see him again. Please.

_Please._

Because there will always be another fight. Another danger. Hydra was still out there. The world was full of perils great and small. When Bucky left—

_So soon now, so soon—_

–who knew when he would be back?

If he would be back.

Bucky’s head snapped up, and a couple of seconds later even I could hear the distant whine of the quin-jet’s engines.

There was no more time.

‘Bucky!’

He paused in the act of lifting his bags to his shoulders. He didn’t look at me. I shakily rose from my chair.

‘I’ll miss you,’ I offered as I drew closer, unable to keep the quaver from my voice and the tears from my eyes. Bucky was drawn as taut as a bow string. This wasn’t the time to be distracting him, Lily! Can’t you leave the man in peace?

‘Stay safe,’ I had to say it. I had to. ‘See you—see you when you can.’ My heart screamed for a confirmation of time or a reassurance that he would come back, but I wouldn’t put the burden of a promise on his shoulders, I wouldn’t.

Because there’s really two ways to look at love and promises, I suppose. One, is that they’re a ball and chain, weighing you down and keeping you from doing what you want. The other is that they’re like a guideline in a blizzard—you can’t always see where you’re going, but you keep ahold of your promise and you know you’ll get to somewhere you want to be.

I was so afraid of tying Bucky down with a ball and chain promise that I was sacrificing my chance at a guideline future. To gain the one I had to risk the other.

Risk—

I couldn’t do it. Because if he never felt the ball and chain, he might come back, even if there was no guideline. I couldn’t risk losing him entirely.

The quin-jet was louder now, almost right overhead. It would be landing any second.

‘Lily.’ Bucky said urgently. I looked up at him, tears in my eyes that I desperately tried to blink away. ‘Lily,’ he put a hand to my cheek and thumbed at one of the tears that leaked downward. ‘I’m coming back. I’m coming back,’ he said fiercely and I couldn’t hold back a sob. He gathered me up in his arms and I clung to him with all the strength I had in me.

The dull roar of the quin-jet faded slightly and I knew it had landed. Bucky pulled back just far enough to lay a gentle kiss on my forehead.

‘I’m coming back,’ he promised in a whisper as he pulled away entirely to lift his bags and walk out the door.

I followed him onto the porch and was in time to see a man stumble out of the quin-jet and fall to his hands and knees at the bottom of the ramp. 

‘Aww, hand,’ we heard him faintly say. Bucky raced ahead to help him to his feet. ‘Hey man, good, they need you—‘ the man slurred. ‘Don’ worry, Jarvis can fly the jet—‘

‘I can fly it,’ Bucky interrupted.

‘Oh. Right. See ya.’ The man sloppily waved a hand in what might have been some species of salute. I was finally close enough that Bucky was able to hand him off to me. ‘Oh hey. M’ gonna pass out soon, f’that’s okay.’

‘No passing out until we get inside,’ I said sternly to hide the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside me. It was hard to tell in the dark, but this was probably Hawkeye, or as Steve had called him: Clint. 

What an entrance.

I struggled to get Clint further away from the quin-jet so it could take off safely but I couldn’t help but look back when I heard the ramp being raised. 

The silhouette of Bucky was the last thing I saw before it closed entirely. 

It roared off moments later but I couldn’t watch it go as I was trying to get Clint up the steps and he was having trouble using his feet.

I wasn’t entirely certain if he was barely-conscious or just really good at sleep-walking but he was certainly down for the count by the time I got him onto the couch. His head tipped back and he snored softly as I struggled to lift his legs into a more comfortable position, as well as to take his shoes off. Not that it really mattered with this couch, charmingly bullet-ridden as it was, but who wanted to sleep in their shoes?

Before putting a blanket on top of him I did a preliminary check to make sure he wasn’t badly injured somewhere. He did have a lot of bandages on but they all seemed fine. 

Well. It wouldn’t be the first time I took in an injured sleep-deprived man and hoped he wouldn’t die in the night.

I wouldn’t mind if it stopped happening, though.

I left a glass of water on the end table nearby and the light on in the downstairs bathroom so he could find it if he needed it. I shut off everything else and locked the front door as I went past it.

I slowly climbed the stairs, feeling the ache deep in my right thigh every time I used the leg. I was on my own now. I’d have to manage.

I crawled into my bed and hugged the pillow to myself in numb desperation as I realized that I was going to have to fall asleep by myself for the first time in a month.

I would fall asleep alone.

Wake alone.

Live alone.

But maybe—

_Maybe_

One day Bucky would keep his promise and come back—

_I’m coming back._

_Lily_

_I’m coming back_

It had been over a month since the last time I cried myself to sleep. I hadn’t missed it.


	37. Interlude IV

Sometimes I wake up with a gun in my hands and it feels so right all I can think is that whatever happened with Lily was just a dream, either during cryo or during the few times they let me sleep normally.

Dreams like that are always too good to be true.

But then Steve shifts next to me and his quiet ‘Bucky?’ makes me think it all must have been a dream—the fall, Hydra, cryo, Lily—all of it was a dream and it’s still the war and we’re never going to make it home.

That’s usually when I notice I’ve got a metal arm and that’s always a great fucking way to kickstart your morning.

Even then life with Lily still seems like a dream. If it weren’t for the pictures of her I had in my phone I don’t know what I’d believe. Hydra didn’t just take memories, sometimes they implanted new ones. This would be too elaborate for their tastes though, those shitheads. No point in giving the asset good memories. He might like it.

But I’ve got pictures of Lily on my phone and that’s enough. That and the ever blinking signal of her tracker I stare at when I can’t sleep. That has to be enough. I haven’t called her. Can’t call her. Hell, I haven’t even texted. I tried, my thumbs hovering over my phone until the screen went black. There’s just…nothing. Nothing except my promise.

_I’m coming back._

Hell, she deserves more than that, more than a battlefield goodbye. But all the poison that drained out of me while I was pretending to be a normal person came back like a hurricane when Steve said he needed me—needed me on this battlefield fighting at his side.

Clint had gotten himself banged up (to the surprise of no one, it seemed) and they needed a sniper. Needed someone to watch their backs. Needed someone they could trust. 

And they called me?

Idiots.

But when I showed up Steve clapped me on the shoulder like it was nothing and ran off straight into the worst part of the fight without even giving me time to get into position first.

What the fuck, Steve.

Ten Hydra dead through the scope of my rifle wasn’t enough to dim my rage and when Captain Oblivious finally called it quits and got the clean-up sorted he walked off one battlefield and into another.

Turns out he wasn’t expecting to get punched walking away from the Hydra base.

Go figure.

The rest of the Avengers all got itchy trigger fingers and I moved to the top of their kill lists (except for Sam. He was shaking his head at the both of us) but Steve just shook it off and said like the dope he is, ‘Bucky?’

‘What the god-damned hell were you thinking?’ I didn’t even need to think of the words to say, they just came rolling out of my mouth like I’d said them a hundred times before. I probably had. I shoved at his stupidly broad shoulders and pushed him back a step. ‘When you call in your sniper you don’t go charging into the fight before he has a chance to watch your back—you wait! Or you wind up dead. Dead, Steve, do you hear me?’ I snarled at him. I felt like punching him again when he just smiled at me.

‘I knew you had my back, Bucky.’

‘Don’t you dare pull that on me, I know all your tricks—‘

‘But Bucky—‘

‘Like hell!’

‘It was fine—‘

‘Fine? Fine! You don’t want back-up, you don’t get back-up.’ I turned to storm off back to the quin-jet.

‘Buck! Bucky, wait up—‘ Steve hurried after me. ‘Jesus, wait up a minute, you’d think—‘

‘Think what, Steve? Think what? That you had a death wish? That you called me over here just to watch you die—‘ I hated that my voice cracked but this was _Steve—_

_Steve_

–and that punk always sliced me straight through whenever he did something stupid.

Which was always.

Damn it.

Steve slipped in front of me and forced me to stop walking. ‘Buck.’

I clenched my fists. ‘Damn it, Steve, you don’t do that to me again, you hear?’

‘I hear,’ Steve said it like a promise. 

‘Good.’ You better promise me Steve. I know it’s probably 90 years too late to grow some sense but god-damn you could stand to try.

Someone cleared their throat behind us. Steve jerked in surprise. 

‘Oh right. Guys, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is everyone.’

‘Smooth, Steve,’ I said, shaking my head in weary familiarity. ‘Real smooth.’ I turned around with my mouth set in a grim line. Meeting new people. Right.

‘So I take it that’s not a new thing,’ Sam spoke up. I quirked an eyebrow. ‘Him being bad at introductions and you know, normal people things.’ He clarified.

I snorted. ‘If you think that was anything other than a Steve Rogers special I’ve got this bridge back home I could sell you.’

‘Hey!’ Steve yelped. Everyone else laughed so I wasn’t in too much trouble yet.

Unlike Steve I did use to be smooth. Back before the fall, the war; back before I was broke open and all my pieces scattered like it didn’t matter if they ever fit together again.

I wasn’t so smooth anymore.

But Steve bullied my way into the Avengers and god damn but did he ever need someone to watch his back so I stayed. I stayed and got used to being part of a team again, having people to watch out for me like I did for them.

We fight monsters, aliens, crazy scientists, Hydra—

Always fucking Hydra—

And at night Steve and I sleep back to back so when I wake up with that gun in my hands he’ll be there to say my name and help me remember where I am. 

Jesus Christ.

He has his own share of nightmares, Steve does, but he talks about them as much as I do.

Read: Never.

But we never did that, even before, so…

Sam gets this look on his face sometimes, like it deeply hurts him how eager we are not to talk about our feelings, but tough luck Sam. Feelings suck.

But it’s great, having Steve close by again. I don’t have to wonder what stupidity he’s getting up to because I can see it—see him doing it every day—and I get to ream him out afterwards for it too. Best part of my day.

It’s more than that, though. It’s finding our old rhythms again, the ones that still work, and polishing them up and oiling them until they run smooth. Until we don’t even have to think about it, we’re working in unison and words don’t even matter.

I don’t think it was like this, before. Not all the time. He was too small at first to keep up with me, and then I was too weak to keep up with him. We were both scrappers, though, never admitting when a fight was too big for us, never backing down when we were needed.

Now—

Now he’s not small and I’m not weak and _fuck_ the shit the world threw at the both of us to get us here but damned if we won’t tear it all down and do it right this time.

And if I can’t sleep sometimes because Lily’s not next to me that’s my business. Get your nose out of it, Steve, this is nothing to do with you.

_Lily._

It’s easier to get used to some of the team than others. Sam, I already know. Stark, I know and despise but in the field he’s more helpful than obnoxious which says something.

I don’t have much to do with Bruce, although listening to him and Stark go at it about science is more interesting than I let on. The Hulk, now, I have a lot more to do with him. I can’t say we got along—but we fight the same people at the same time and don’t kill each other so what more can you want, Steve? We’re both too dangerous, have too much rage and hate thrumming under our skins to be friendly. But we’re team, so neither of us does anything about it.

Natasha…

Shit. That woman—god damn but I still don’t know what to make of her. I think I understand her the best out of all the Avengers—except for Steve—but that’s not saying much. She’s a sneak and a thief and a spy and so dangerous I sometimes want to drop to my knees in awe. She’s like a war goddess and at her altar you’d lay flowers and blood—your own as well as your enemy’s—and when she smiles her teeth are sharp enough to carve your soul from your body. She also gives Steve hell on a regular basis which thank God I’m not the only one to be looking out for that guy. Sam looks out for him too, but sometimes Steve’ll only listen to her.

Damn her.

I’d say I was jealous but Steve never listened to me anyway.

Fuck.

Thor shows up occasionally, when his girl Jane is busy with her science or when we needed another heavy hitter. (like with those fucking slime fiends. Something made out of slime should not be that hard to kill) He’s all booming laughter and fierce fighting, and damn does he like to drink. Earth alcohol doesn’t do much to him either, but whether he’s had a few in him or not his favorite topic is always Jane. Jane this, Jane that, Jane just discovered a new element in space, Jane just spent forty hours awake and tried to toast her keys, Jane just insulted half of the scientific community for their sexism and stupidity, Jane just—

Yeah. There’s a guy in love.

I make the mistake of snorting to myself in front of Natasha while Thor is going on about his Jane and how she may not have hung the moon and the stars but give her a little time and she could figure out how to do it.

Yeah. He’s always like that.

‘You’re as bad as he is, Barnes.’ Natasha says low into my ear, making me jump. 

‘The hell I am.’ I growl at her, annoyed at how I’d let her sneak up on me.

‘Think about it. All you do is bicker with Steve or mope over those pictures of your girl on your phone.’

‘I killed fifteen Hydra agents today.’ Was all I could think to say in rebuttal.

‘Gee.’ Natasha says deadpan. ‘You’ve really got some range, there. And after that you bickered with Steve, and after that you slouched in the corner and scowled at your phone. Do you think if your face froze like that, she’d mind?’

My mind flashes to Lily. Some of those days with her I’d done nothing but scowl, and all she’d do was give me these bright grins like I’d said something funny or done something wonderful. Like she could tell that behind my scowl I really did want to smile.

I don’t know what my face does but Natasha hits me upside the head.

‘Sap,’ she says as she strolls off, looking for another victim. 

Choose Steve. He’s earned it. Punk jumped off a ten story building without giving anyone a warning. Thor caught him two feet off the ground, Christ almighty.

Or Thor Almighty. Shit. That’s a hell kind of thing to worry about.

What Natasha says sticks with me, though. 

I’m as bad as he is?

Thor’s in love, and he doesn’t care who knows it. He’d fly to the moon and draw a giant heart on it if it wouldn’t piss Jane off that he went somewhere fun without her. He’s always got this goofy grin when he talks about her, all proud and possessive.

Like Jane is _his_ , and he’s the luckiest god on earth.

I’m as bad as he is?

Lily’s not _mine_. She’s strong and kind and too fucking good for me. She’s beautiful and calm and happy and she’s everything I never knew I—she’s—

Damn me to Hell for what I want from her.

Damn me straight to Hell.

 

Natasha won’t let it go.

I think she even got Steve and Sam in on it. Even when Thor’s not around gushing about _his Jane_ , the three of them keep sneaking glances at me.

As if I can’t tell when someone’s looking at me.

Hell.

It makes me want to clean ALL my weapons and shut everyone out. Sometimes I do. But then Steve plops himself at my side, book or pencil in hand and he won’t go away until I stop acting so pissy.

Damn it.

And damn him for being so happy about it, the smug punk.

‘You know, you could just call her,’ he says one day after I’ve given my rifle a good once over. My metal hand spasms and I nearly crush the stock. Damn it Steve, if you make me break my gun…

‘Call who?’ I grunt, playing stupid. Leave it alone, Steve…

Steve never leaves anything alone.

‘Don’t give me that, Buck. _Call her_.’

My jaw tenses and my teeth grind against each other. Like Hell if I’ll give him the satisfaction of an argument. That’s exactly what he wants.

‘Sam talks to her almost every day, you know.’ Steve says casually, as if he wasn’t slamming a fist into my gut with his words.

I feel breathless. 

_It’s cause you’re holding your breath, idiot._

Shit.

I slowly inhale, hoping Steve won’t notice.

He does.

He’s not looking at me but I can see the corner of his mouth turn up like he wants to smirk. 

‘She’s doing good,’ Steve continues, set on sticking that knife a little deeper in my ribs. ‘PT’s going well.’

It’s been nearly a month. Nearly a month since I left her with a promise I wondered if I’d ever fulfill. 

_I’m coming back._

Was I?

Should I?

Lily’s better off without me there to mess up her life, that’s a fact. But even now I can feel the pull of her, the need to see that she’s safe and unharmed. It’s been so long since I saw her, so long…

I just need to know she’s okay, that’s the only reason I don’t stop Steve from talking or walk away from him.

That has to be the only reason.

_Bucky_

Damn it. Lily—

‘She’s thinking about taking a class.’

_Bucky_

Stop. Please—

‘Sam said it was something medical, maybe anatomy?’

_Bucky_

I said stop. I can’t come back, I can’t—

‘She’s doing well enough to drive again, so—‘

_Bucky_

Lily.

‘—local college—‘

_Bucky_

No.

_Bucky_

‘Bucky.’

_Bucky_

‘Bucky—‘

‘No!’ I shout, and fling myself away from Steve. I’m breathing heavy, my hands are trembling. Jesus Christ, not another episode. I’d kept Steve from seeing the worst of it, he’d never had to deal with me like this before—

_Lily—_

–but there’s too much noise in my head and all of it sounds like her, the way she’d say my name or hum when I held her in the night or laugh when she got so excited she’d bounce because she couldn’t sit still—

She’s in my head and I can feel her snaked around my heart like a noose that only needs one more pull and it’s taut and it’s tight and it’s caught—

‘Hey man, hey.’ It’s Sam. I’m tucked into a corner like a fucking _child_ and Sam sits back on his heels a few feet away. Steve’s all worried and tense further away, trying to let Sam handle this.

Handle me.

Christ.

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall, the painful thump not enough to clear my head.

Damn this. Damn me.

I open my eyes. Sam’s sitting down now, not hovering like he might have to make a fast getaway. I take a deep breath. It’s shakier than I’d like.

‘Hey.’ I finally acknowledge. Sam smiles.

‘You back with us?’

‘Mostly,’ I grunt. Jesus Christ I hate this. Can’t even keep my head together, have to be babied and—

‘Hey, none of that,’ Sam kicks me.

What.

I look at him in shock.

‘Yeah, you heard me. I could practically hear you putting yourself down, you were doing it so loud. And you’re not exactly made of glass, so…’ Sam tilts his head at me.

I give him a weary twitch of a smile. ‘Is that an approved therapy technique, beating on your patients?’ It’s enough to make him snort. 

‘Hell no,’ Sam rolls his eyes. ‘Call it a calculated risk.’

Risk. Heh. Lily took that risk once. Threw a pillow at me. I nearly killed her.

My face tightens and goes flat. Don’t take that risk, Sam. Not on me.

I push myself up from my corner. Sam stands, taken aback by my speed. I shove past him.

‘Bucky—‘ Steve tries to say, but I’m past him too and then there’s nothing in front of me, nothing but open doors and all the space I need to run until everything’s been bludgeoned into silence in my head.

And if it hurts and my internal cries sound like something—well. No one’s in my head but me now, so no one knows but me. 

_Lily—_

 

It all comes to a head a few days after that. We take this Hydra base, and we take it so fast not everyone has time to kill themselves, not even some of the High Brass. Bruce has been experimenting with this knock-out gas, and it works like a dream, making sure we have someone to question and not just corpses to bury. 

Not that I mind having corpses to bury. Sometimes I light them on fire, just for the variety.

Steve tries to disapprove but he only pitches a fit when Stark gets out marshmallows from who knows where in his suit and starts to toast them. He tries to pass them to me, but no thanks, buddy, I don’t need your corpse tasting marshmallows. You deserve that dressing down, ruining good food like that.

We’ve got all the prisoners separated, not like it’ll do us that much good. Hydra either wins, kills itself, or doesn’t talk. 

Hydra didn’t win. It didn’t kill itself. So here it is. Not talking.

For hours.

I’m pretty patient, usually. I’ve stayed still for _days_ , only moving enough to keep my muscles from locking up, waiting for that perfect moment. 

Bang.

But something’s got me edgy and I can’t settle. Maybe it’s the base, the lingering miasma of Hydra that sets my hackles up. I’m not usually against taking prisoners, but Hydra?

Kill them all and burn them to ash and shove that ash down the throats of whoever wants to revive that corpse and watch them choke to death on it. 

I’d say I have some issues, but that’s one I’m proud of.

Thor’s trying to teach me some Asgardian children’s game that’s like rock-paper-scissors only with more violence and hand gestures, when Steve and Natasha come out from their latest interrogation attempt. They confer quietly for a moment, obviously arguing about something, when they both turn to me.

Fuck.

I stand.

‘Buck…’ Steve trails off.

‘We’re getting nowhere.’ Natasha says bluntly. ‘How do you feel about terrifying some scientists?’

I love terrifying Hydra. Most of them piss their pants when they see me, even if none of them had anything to do with me back in the day. I was a ghost story. But after the helicarriers went down in DC lots of footage was leaked online and information about what was done to me, spreading the word throughout the world about what I’m capable of.

And Hydra has only themselves to blame, so yeah. I love turning that back on them.

But scientists? It’s not easy. With them. With what was done to me.

Hell, I get twitchy when Stark calls Bruce ‘Doctor,’ and I like Bruce well enough.

Hydra scientists? Hydra doctors?

My hands get twitchy and my gun finger gets itchy and I’m as likely to kill them as glare at them.

Natasha must be desperate to ask me to scare scientists.

Shit.

I roll my shoulders to loosen them and I nod. Steve looks pained, but stubborn. ‘I’ve got your back,’ He says.

Idiot.

Me that is, for feeling so much better after he says it.

Damn it, focus! 

I pause outside the cell door, letting the winter soldier drift up from his hole where I buried him and ghost along my muscles, shaping me more like him.

Before I put my hand on the doorknob Natasha speaks.

‘Make him think you want vengeance unless he speaks.’

Vengeance. You could call it that. 

How about the desire to feed him through a woodchipper, feet first and slowly?

I nod blankly and open the door.

The man inside isn’t young, but he isn’t old either. He’s stern and contained, with dead eyes and a cold presence. His eyes flicker when they see me, but not with fear.

Fuck.

He leans forward. He looks me over with…satisfaction.

Fuck.

Steve—

This isn’t working—

‘Ah,’ the man sighs softly. ‘All this time I was chasing you, and here you caught me first. One of life’s finest ironies, don’t you think?’

Fuck.

I swing the door shut behind me, knowing that Steve could open it in a second. I lean against the wall in a darker spot, letting the shadow conceal as much of me as it can. My pulse is beating madly but I keep my breathing even. I do my best to exude the casually terrifying menace that was the hallmark of the winter soldier but it doesn’t seem to have that much of an effect on this man.

He’s not afraid. But he is fascinated. I can work with that.

Fuck.

I let my head tilt just a hair to one side. His hands twitch, like they’re that eager to tear me apart and put me back together again in his own image.

Play God with someone else, you bastard piece of shit.

‘Should I do to you what you would have done to me?’ I growl at him low-voiced and ominious.

‘What would I have done to you?’ His voice is even. Steady. Curious.

Terrifying.

‘Lost your imagination already?’ I taunt. ‘Need a few pointers?’ I deliberately tighten my left fist, letting the plates whir and shift.

Lily loved that sound—

Focus!

His eyes trail down my arm with possessive intent. ‘What would I have done to you?’ His tone hasn’t shifted an iota from the first time he said it. It sends a thrill of warning up my spine.

Something is wrong…

‘Not what I did to that girl you rescued, what was her name? Lily? No, electricity would burn you to pieces before you yielded—‘

My mind whites out. I hear a crashing roar like a storm hitting a beach.

_Lily!_

I’d rescued her from that Hydra base where she’d been strapped down and electrocuted and drugged until they broke her open and she told them what they wanted to know. She’d told me in sobs and whispers about the man who had done it, a man who had been nowhere near when I’d torn apart that base looking for her. 

While he’d been looking for me…

Me—

There was shouting now, shouting among the crashing roar and hands on my arms, arms wrapped around me, dragging me away from—

No!

I snarl and kick, fighting back, I have to get back, have to kill him—

_Lily_

He’s glassy-eyed and his neck bears my imprint but he’s not dead yet, not dead yet—

Have to kill him, have to keep Lily safe—

_Lily_

I scream in rage as Steve and Thor tear me out of the room, only the combined strength and weight of the two of them able to overpower me. They bear me down to the ground as gently as they can with the way I’m writhing and fighting.

‘Bucky, Bucky! Bucky!’ Steve shouts.

‘Barnes, my friend, it is all right!’ Thor adds in his own booming voice. ‘It is all right. She is safe, your Lily is safe.’

It’s only the last bit that reaches me, gets through to me, helps me calm down.

Lily is safe, Lily is safe, Lily is safe—

I chant it under my breath and slowly I relax my muscles from straining against my friends.

Dear God, Lily—

She’s safe, she’s safe, she’s safe—

_Lily_

I scramble out of their loosened hold, not towards the door, no, away from it—

_Lily_

My breathing is harsh as I rip my phone from my pocket, needing to check on Lily RIGHT NOW. The pulse of her tracker is steady and comforting but it isn’t enough, isn’t enough—

‘Need to go,’ I force out. ‘Have to—have to—‘ Damn it, all my words are stopped up, I can’t say what I need to say.

‘It’s all right, Buck.’ Steve says, his voice nearer than I was expecting. I turn quickly. He’s right next to me. ‘Take the jet. Go.’ I could cry with relief if I wasn’t so shattered with worry. I pull him in for a quick hug, my head resting easily on his shoulder—it feels like good, like safety and happiness—before I’m running through the base’s corridors, desperate to reach the outside and the quin-jet.

Stark and Sam are bickering in a friendly vein about flying styles when I open the hatch. 

‘Get out,’ I manage to say before I’m forcing them down the ramp.

‘Hey!’ Stark whines. ‘This is my jet you know?’

‘Mine now.’ I say curtly. Sam cocks his head like he’s listening to something on his comm and he reaches out to pull Stark down the ramp faster. Good man.

It doesn’t take long to heat up the engines and I’m out of there in a heartbeat.

_Lily_

My breathing still isn’t steady and my heart rate is for shit but all I can do is stare at my phone, at the blinking indicator of Lily’s life and location as I tell myself,

_She’s safe she’s safe she’s safe she’s safe_

It only helps a little.

I’m barely away before Natasha’s hailing me on the quin-jet’s comms. 

‘What.’ I bark.

‘Hey Barnes, I got something for you. You listening?’

What the hell are you up to of course I’m listening I’m terrified you’re going to tell me something about Lily is she okay please let her be okay Lily—

_Lily_

‘I’m listening.’

The sound of a gunshot cracks through the speaker and it snaps me back into my body so solidly it’s painful.

Hell. That woman.

‘Read you loud and clear,’ I manage to say. The comm goes dead.

Just like—

I breathe easy for the first time in half-an-hour. Count on Natasha to do what was needed.

I owed her. Owed her big.

Hell, owed all of them. Letting me tear out of there with their only transport—not counting Thor or Stark or even Sam—well, their only comfortable transport—and not a word to object.

Well, other than Stark.

‘Sir, ETA six hours and fifteen minutes,’ Jarvis speaks up. I nod and put the ship on automatic pilot. I trust him to take it from here and I could use a moment to myself.

Every limb feels heavy and worn out as I stretch in the pilot’s chair.

Jesus Christ. This day.

Just a few days ago I was telling myself I shouldn’t go back, shouldn’t keep my promise to Lily and now—

Hell.

I never could stay away from her. And I was starting to get tired of trying.

 _Finally!_ I could practically hear Steve and Sam and even Natasha rolling their eyes and throwing their hands up in the air.

Fuck off, I’m trying here.

I didn’t regret leaving. Steve needed me and I need to keep him safe. But Barton is about healed and ready to come back, so I’m not leaving them without any back-up. 

Steve never watches his back.

But is just isn’t enough anymore, you know? Keeping Steve safe has always been something I’m happy to do, and I’m sure I’ll keep doing it in the future but—

But—

I’m tired of running from what I know’ll make me happy.

_Lily_

I’m tired of lying to myself and saying that she’s better off without me.

I’m tired of telling myself to pull back, to keep her safe from a distance.

I’m tired of that look on her face (so brave, so fucking sad) when she expects me to leave, because I’ve kept one foot out the door since she’s known me, and I’ve no one to blame but myself. She never told me to leave. Not even the night we met. She told me to stay and she’s been saying the same thing since.

 _‘Come back when you can.’_ Oh God. She didn’t even ask for a promise that I’d be back. Just wanted me to come back some time. Any time.

_Lily_

I’ve got tears snaking down my face and I inhale wetly as I wipe my cheeks.

I’ve been so busy running away from myself and what I did that I ran away from the one thing that helped me find myself again, and with no expectation of reward, no requests for promises that I wasn’t sure I could keep, no—

Just shelter and safety and kindness and warmth and happiness and joy and love—

Love—

Oh God—

How could I be so blind?

I feel the noose around my heart draw tight and for a moment I can’t breathe and everything lurches to a halt but my heart keeps beating and it hurts but only because I’ve been so stupid—

What the fuck was I thinking—

I wrap my arms around myself and I laugh at my stupidity and idiocy as tears are falling down my face because I’m going home—

Home—

And it smells like clean clothes and Pert shampoo, like the slight musk of sweat and fresh baked cookies. Like trees and sunlight and drying plaster.

Home—

And it looks like kind eyes and soft smiles and too many books to read in a lifetime. Like the flicker of images on a tv screen and the orange light of the sunset.

Home—

And it feels like warm hugs and deep pillows and cool morning air. Like Love, like Happiness, like—

Like Home.

_I’m coming back, Lily._

‘Jarvis. ETA?’

_I’m coming back._

‘Five hours and forty-eight minutes, sir.’

‘Thanks.’

I’m going home.


	38. Chapter 38

Have you ever gotten stuck in a sand pit?

It’s the worst.

Because as strong as you are, as hard as you try, it’s never quite good enough. You dig your feet in and push yourself higher, higher…but all that sand just slides under you until you’re at the bottom again, half buried and exhausted from climbing just a few feet.

When my family died I didn’t even try to climb out of the pit, I just sat at the bottom and made peace with the fact that this was my life now. At the bottom of this pit. I’d stay here and maybe it wouldn’t be so bad eventually. I mean, it wasn’t any fun and the sand was itchy and got everywhere, but hey. I lived in a sand pit now. Okay.

Bucky breaking into my house was like someone forcibly grabbing my arm and dragging me almost all of the way out of the pit. I wasn’t over the lip but I was close enough to see the sun and taste the fresh air and remember just what it was that life used to feel like before the sand pit.

Bucky leaving was like losing that strong hold and sliding ever deeper back into the pit—only this time I knew I didn’t have to live down there and everything in me screamed as the opening grew further and further away. 

But this time I didn’t let it rest. Didn’t give up. I was already closer to the top than I was before, even if I was sliding back, so I threw everything I had at the crumbling wall of sand and you know what?

I was doing it.

I wasn’t making much headway but all the headway that I made? _It was mine_. I made it. I did that. It wasn’t easy and Dear God some days were so bad I could feel the sand slipping under me, pulling me back down and I was so tired, so tired—

But I wanted _out_ and for the first time in a long time I believed I could do it. Had to do it.

Because there wasn’t anyone but me to do it.

The first couple days after Bucky left were the worst. It was hard to find the energy to do anything, even with a houseguest that I needed to look after. Clint didn’t require much of my attention, however, and after two days of either sleeping or drinking so much coffee I would have been convinced he’d never sleep again, he left. We didn’t spend all that much time together, but he seemed nice. I was just having a hard time concentrating on anything that wasn’t Bucky. Or rather, the absence of Bucky.

Laura helped as much as she could. She let me cry on her shoulder when it was all too much. She let me scream and rage about all of it in the way I never did after my family died. All of this was long overdue and I was so grateful to still have my friend. I was perhaps a little more vicious than I needed to be, setting her straight on what was between Bucky and me—too much on my side, just a promise to come back on his—and she took it. 

Dear God in all the starry heavens Laura took it without arguing (too much) and let me cry myself to sleep on her couch.

I woke up with Jackson burbling and kicking his feet on the floor next to me and it felt a little bit like home. Somewhere I belonged.

My house didn’t feel much like that anymore.

And it wasn’t just in the way how everywhere I looked I saw reminders of Bucky—

That was his favorite chair in the kitchen.

Those were the bookshelves he built me.

That was the new tv that Tony Stark gave me because the old one was shot to pieces in the Hydra attack.

This was the shampoo that the both of us used and whenever we curled up together I couldn’t tell whether it was his hair or mine I smelled.

All these things were reminders and I clutched them all to myself like if I didn’t they might disappear.

Just like Bucky did.

I didn’t have him anymore, but I had my memories of him, and I was terrified of losing those too. Because as long as I had those he wasn’t fully gone, he was coming back.

He promised.

But if it wasn’t for Sam I might have lost my faith in that promise.

Because Bucky never called. Never texted. Never once contacted me.

Ever.

And I couldn’t call him because I didn’t want to distract him at a crucial moment, even if the odds of me calling during a fight were slim, and the odds of him not having turned his phone off were even slimmer. So even though it wasn’t entirely logical, I was okay with leaving that ball in his court. He’d call when he had time, just like Steve had called him, or when Sam had texted the two of us.

But he never called.

And the memory of Steve calling him every couple days burned painfully inside me because that clearly meant there was enough down time to do something like that, even if you were an Avenger with a full dance card, hunting down Hydra and monsters and the like.

Which meant that if he wasn’t calling it was because he didn’t want to. Not even to check up on me. 

And I wasn’t expecting all that much, you know? Bucky wasn’t the world’s best communicator (I wasn’t that much better than him, yes I know) so I was expecting the world’s most awkward ‘hey’ ‘hey’ ‘how are you?’ ‘I made cookies’ ‘oh.’ stilted sort of conversation, but I didn’t even get that.

I got nothing.

And as I said before, if it wasn’t for Sam my heart would have broken too much to believe Bucky’s last words to me.

Because if he didn’t want to have anything to do with me while he was away, why on earth would he want to come back once it was over?

But Sam held the line, sending me pictures of Bucky sleeping or taking care of his guns or just sitting shoulder to shoulder with Steve. It was only in the pictures with Steve that he appeared relaxed or happy. Even asleep he looked tight and scowly.

Bucky hadn’t been that scowly with me in a long time. Not that constantly.

So it gave me hope—terrible, uneasy, lurching hope—that maybe it didn’t matter if he called. Maybe it didn’t even matter _why_ he didn’t. 

Maybe he’d come back anyway. And if he did, did anything else really matter?

No. Not really. I’m far too forgiving like that.

It was easier to text with Sam about some things than it was to talk with Laura. I didn’t have to worry about worrying Sam in the same way. I could tell Sam I was having trouble sleeping and he’d just link me to some helpful websites or ‘glare’ at me and tell me to stop skipping my exercises. Oops.

Sam is scary clever sometimes.

All the time.

Whatever.

But at least talking with him kept me from becoming too depressed and slipping deeper into the pit.

So I did my exercises and ate at least two good meals a day (breakfast was hard to eat now that Bucky wasn’t here) and talked with Sam and spent time with Laura and Charlie and Jackson and suddenly I realized that I was bored.

Bored with a capital B.

I wanted to do something more, something different. There was an itching in my muscles that had nothing to do with healing and everything to do with boredom. My books and my movies and my music weren’t enough without Bucky to share them with, and I started to wonder if this was what my future was going to be like: me sitting around being bored and mopey because I was alone.

I didn’t like that. I’d done that before, and I was tired of it.

So I asked myself the very important question: what do I want my future to be like?

BUCKY! My brain immediately supplied. 

Thanks for the help, brain. You’re assistance has been very valuable.

Not.

Tell me something I don’t know, brain. Tell me something new. What do I want to do with my time? Who do I want to be?

I spent a lot of frustrated time mulling over that question, because I didn’t have a good answer.

In one of those horrible strokes of irony I had no real need to work now that my family was dead because all their worldly goods/insurance policies reverted to me.

Huzzah.

So I might not have been rich but I certainly didn’t have to eat Ramen unless I really wanted to. Which I did sometimes because Ramen.

I didn’t feel like jumping back into a job right away because even if I was healing up okay I didn’t want to face the amount of people interaction even a part time job would bring.

It was ultimately Sam’s suggestion of taking a class and learning something new that led me to a local college’s web site where they I discovered they offered Anatomy courses. Anatomy.

Boo-yah. I could do that. I already loved anatomy so it wasn’t like I was throwing myself into the deep end of a pool that might be filled with water, but it also might be filled with snakes. There were no snakes in the anatomy pool. I was probably going to learn a lot, but at least I knew what I was in for.

I was pretty excited when I told Sam about it. I’d always liked knowing how things worked, and although my first time around in college had been pretty awesome (I love my useless English degree, don’t you knock it) I was excited to do something with the sciences this time.

Nervous too, don’t get me wrong. You meet new people and you’re always going to have to answer questions. Family questions. Life questions. Like, ‘why are you limping and why do you have so many scars’ questions. 

Yeah. Those kinds of questions. And I’d have to think of something good to say about it because the real answer was not happening. Nuh-uh.. No way was I telling random strangers that I got shot up by Hydra because I was on the run with the Winter Soldier who they were trying to reacquire after he broke me out of a Hydra base where they were torturing me because the Winter soldier was living with me after he broke into my house after the whole DC incident.

Oof. Yeah, no.

I was gonna go with ‘caught in a freak drive-by shooting accident.’ It played a little better.

To that end I did actually look up places that had drive-by shootings two months ago and decided which place was likely to be far enough away that no one would have the details but also that it was logical enough that I would have been in that time and place to get shot.

See, that was my English degree coming into play right there. When you make up something, it has to be plausible enough that people won’t think too hard about it. Make the willing suspension of disbelief work for you. Mix a small dash of tragedy with a hearty smile and a can-do attitude that obviously hides a certain fragility and most people are instantly on your side. Or running away so you don’t infect them with your sadness. Either works.

Not that you should lie to people for kicks and giggles. Don’t do that. But if your really have to lie to someone…it might as well be a good lie. 

And as much as I hate over-solicitous sympathy at least in this case I could fob it off with an ‘accidents suck’ kind of statement and be done with it. 

People don’t let you do that when your entire family dies in a freak boating accident. Even if accidents like that really do suck.

I manage to apply to the class and get accepted just a week before it started. Hurray State run schools, where everyone’s money is welcome. Oh you mean there are people attached to that money? ‘deep sigh’ Oh _all right_ , I guess they can come too.

I wasn’t expecting THE MOST IN DEPTH ANATOMY CLASS EVER NO REALLY YOU ARE A DOCTOR NOW kind of class. I just wanted to learn something new.

And keep my mind off of Bucky.

Yeah. Hah. That was going to work. Not when I could practically feel the cool flex and shift of the metal plates on his arm under my hands. Not when I could remember him placing his hands on my back to show me where the kidneys are (for stabbing purposes, donchaknow). 

Forgetting Bucky wasn’t happening, but maybe I could do something to keep me busy anyway.

It had been several years since I graduated college, several years in which to forget the rhythms of homework and studying for quizzes and tests, several years in which I hadn’t had to personally interact with so many strangers. Because a classroom situation is different than a job, you know? Even if you work with the public you don’t usually have to _get to know_ them. You just try to make them happy enough to pay you money and go away. 

But in a class? You’re supposed to be friendly. Helpful. You might even have to do group projects with them (ugh). Hiding would only get me so far. Besides, I was there to be distracted. Nothing more distracting than other people.

Blech.

So when I nervously walked/limped into class far too early my first day, I did my best to have a positive attitude about it. I wasn’t walking to my doom, no don’t be silly. I was about to learn fun things and since everyone else was there to learn fun things too maybe we’d get along without hating each other.

Yeah. I’m not really good at talking myself into liking people.

The class started on time and the room was pretty full—maybe twenty people or so. The professor was pretty nice and unjaded for a state school salary, and opened us up with some of the more interesting facts about the human body. Like how when we blush our stomach lining blushes too. And how we share 50% of DNA with bananas. Or how the adult human body contains 4.5 liters of blood, but a baby only has 355 mL (less than a can of soda).

This last one caused me to crack up so hard I turned heads for a couple of rows. I waved a sorry at the professor and he let it go.

The girl next to me leaned in. ‘What’s so funny?’ she whispered.

‘I’m sorry, it’s just—comparing a baby’s blood content to a can of soda? It’s not very much is it.’ 

She looked confused. She looked like she was a little older than the average college age, but still younger than me. ‘It’s a baby. Why would it be more?’

I shook my head. ‘I know, it makes sense there wouldn’t be much, but—‘ I hesitated to say what had occurred to me. My sense of humor was strange at best, and this was very strange. ‘—have you ever read Dracula?’

She looked at me quizzically. ‘No, but I saw the movie.’

‘Okay, good. So you know the part where Dracula steals a baby and feeds it to his three wives?’

A flicker of understanding passed across her face.

‘It’s just—that’s not a lot of blood for three people to share. I mean, other than the utter moral depravity of eating a human baby—what’s the point? You’re effectively sharing a coke with three other people. You’re getting what—a sip or two? That’s not very much. Vampires shouldn’t eat babies, it’s inefficient.’

I held myself tightly after finishing, prepared for her scorn or just blank perplexity. I got that a lot growing up.

But her eyes lit up and she flung a hand over her mouth just in time to stop a bark of laughter. Her nose crinkled and her shoulders shook. She took her hand off her mouth and shook her head. ‘I never thought of it like that!’ she whispered to me, and we both grinned. ‘I’m Monica.’

‘I’m Lily,’ I whispered back, and we shook hands before turning our attentions back to the teacher.

After class was over Monica introduced me to a couple other people in the class.

‘Lily, this is Jamira and Ana. Guys, this is Lily. You wouldn’t believe what she said at the start of class—‘

‘Is that what was making you crack up?’ Jamira asked. Or maybe it was Ana. Bother, I’m bad with new people. 

‘You’re going to love this—Lily?’ Monica turned to me with a huge smile on her face and I smiled back.

Maybe this would all be okay.

 

It was okay. In fact, by the end of our second class together I had even been convinced to go to dinner with everyone to hang out. Of course, from the sound of it ‘dinner’ was going to be salad. Fruit salad. Grapes really. Or just wine. Lots of wine.

I’d stopped taking my pain meds even to sleep a couple weeks ago, so there was no conflict there, but even without that I wasn’t going to be drinking much. I would have to drive myself home, after all, and I didn’t like getting too tipsy in public. But I still felt comfortable enough to go hang out with my new classmates—they were nice, and very funny themselves. Maybe group projects wouldn’t be so bad if I could have them on my team.

The bar/restaurant was fifteen minutes from the college, but still thirty minutes from my house. We went there straight after class, and even though it was still early, the place was surprisingly full. 

‘Wow, this is pretty busy for this early,’ I said as we walked in.

Jamira waved a hand. ‘Early bird special for drinks until 6.’

‘Ah,’ I snorted. That was one way to draw a crowd.

Monica, Jamira, and Ana all ordered wine, but I stuck with a local cider. They teased me about it, but gently. 

‘All right, all right,’ I flapped my hands at them. ‘Make fun of the light weight.’

‘Oh we will,’ Ana snarked back. She was pretty quiet in class, but with a glass or two of wine in her, she was opening up more. I scrunched my nose at her and made a face. She laughed and the three of them clinked glasses together. It was nice.

The place really filled up over the next hour and we had to defend our place at the bar ferociously. We shared appetizers and opinions on the class, as well as minor personal details every now and then.

It was Monica who finally asked what I know all of them were wondering about when I eased myself into another position on the bar stool and winced as the muscles in my right leg protested. 

‘So, you don’t have to say anything, we’re not that gossipy—but are you okay? Your leg, or whatever that is.’

‘You limp sometimes,’ Ana added, her tact and reserve replaced by bright eyes and flushed red cheeks.

I shrugged ruefully. ‘I got hurt two months ago. Drive-by shooting. Wrong place at the wrong time.’

Their eyes widened and Jamira flapped her hands anxiously. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I smiled. ‘I mean, it’s not all healed up yet, but I’ll be okay. The leg was the worst of it. Bullet went all the way to the bone. Didn’t crack it, though.’ I said positively.

‘Oh, that’s good,’ Monica said before taking a deep gulp of her wine. She coughed and put a hand on her chest. ‘Oops.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ I laughed and slapped her on the back to help the coughing stop. ‘I don’t talk about because I’m not looking to be ‘the girl that got shot,’ but I’m not mad.’

‘Good,’ Jamira piped up, and raised her glass to me. Monica and Ana followed suit. ‘To Lily—one tough son-of-a-bitch.’

‘Here here!’ They shouted, and downed their glasses. I laughed and took a sip of mine. It was almost gone, but I’d been nursing it for almost two hours.

‘Shouldn’t that be ‘daughter’?’ I asked innocently. They groaned.

‘English major!’ Ana swore at me. I giggled.

‘All right, all right,’ Jamira interrupted. ‘No more of that, but thanks for trusting us, Lily. We won’t spread that around. But we’ve come to the best portion of the night—men!’ All of us laughed at her. ‘Do we have them? Do we want them? What do we want to do with them when we have them?’ She waggled her eyebrows suggestively. Ana snorted so hard wine went up her nose. 

‘Augh!’ she cried in pain. Monica tried to pat her face down with napkins but she kept missing because she was laughing so hard. Ana finally had to take them herself to recover her dignity.

Monica took small sips of her wine to try and control her giggles. ‘Okay. Right. I’ll take the hit. No, I don’t have a man, hell yes I want one, and a man’s proper place is in my bed tied up so I can do anything I want to him—‘ Jamira shrieked and put a hand over Monica’s mouth to stop her from saying anything else, but I think she was done already. They leaned so close to each other they nearly fell off their stools.

‘You have a dirty dirty mind,’ Jamira cried.

‘And you don’t?’ Monica fired back.

‘Well I have a man,’ Ana spoke up. ‘I would like to keep him, but I wish he’d do his dishes more often.’

‘Here here!’ Monica and I shouted. Men who do dishes are the best.

_Bucky…_

‘Hey, hey—‘ Ana pointed at me unsteadily. ‘What’s that look? You got all sad…’

‘Sworn off men?’ Monica asked sympathetically. I shook my head. Oh bother, how to explain even a tenth of what’s happened to me…

‘I like someone. Don’t think they like me back. They’ve been gone for a while and they haven’t tried to contact me.’

My three classmates ‘awww’d’ in sympathy and Monica pushed the last cheese stick towards me in consolation.

‘That sucks,’ Jamira said.

I shrugged. ‘Yeah. It kind of does.’ 

Jamira flung an arm over my shoulder in a loose hug. ‘Don’t you worry, we’ll find you somebody to appreciate you.’

‘Oh no, don’t—‘ I tried to protest but it was in vain.

‘How about blondie over there?’ Jamira gestured vaguely. I squinted.

‘You mean the one who looks like he’s about to do a face first dive into that girl’s cleavage?’

Jamira looked closer. ‘Okay, maybe not. Her eyes are up here!’ she shouted across the bar rudely, and we shushed her with as much laughter as trepidation. That didn’t stop her though. ‘What about shorty over there? Nice muscles.’

Shorty was appropriately named, and his muscles were scarily nice. 

‘I’m pretty sure he loves his gym more than he ever could love a girl. I won’t be the ‘other woman’ in that relationship.’

‘Ooh, burn!’ Ana shouted and leaned closer to high-five me. I giggled and drank the last of my cider. Jamira was shaking her head at the both of us.

‘Okay, okay, but how about—‘ she craned her head around the room and abruptly stopped. ‘Oh, hell no, not for you—‘

‘What?’ I sniggered. ‘What’s the matter? I tried to see where she was looking but there was a swirl of people near the door blocking my view. 

‘Every girl loves a bad boy,’ Jamira said slowly, still clearly in shock, ‘But there’s bad, and then there’s _bad._ And _Bad_ news just walked in.’

All of us were now turned toward the door, trying to see what Jamira had. The swirl of people was resolving itself quickly; whoever was at the center of the knot was pushing people back by sheer force of scariness alone, it seemed. No one wanted to be near someone that _bad._

Enough people finally edged away to give me a good look at whoever it was, and it was—

What—

The—

‘Bucky!’ I shouted, or maybe whispered, I couldn’t really tell. But his eyes locked on mine and he shouldered his way through the nervous crowd with the focused intensity I’d only ever seen him apply to fighting. Each step was as definite as an earthquake and to anyone else I suppose he looked like Death had taken a human form and was pissed as hell—but to me?

I saw his eyes and they were warm and as happy as I’d ever seen them. I felt dizzy and hot under his gaze, like I’d been drinking a whole lot more than just one cider. I half fell, half jumped off my bar stool just in time to push myself forward a couple steps and throw myself at him. 

_Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky Bucky—_

He caught me and lifted me into his arms, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist as I half laughed, half sobbed in delirious joy to feel his arms around me again, to feel his body pressed against mine.

He came back—he came back!

‘Bucky Bucky Bucky—‘ I chanted into his shoulder where I’d pressed my face, my hands clutched deep in his hair as I tried to reconcile what had just happened.

Bucky was here?

Bucky was here?

‘Bucky Bucky Bucky—‘

I could feel him inhale deeply and laugh shakily on the exhale as he pulled me in as tightly as we could press together. He smelled like unfamiliar shampoo, the chemical after-smell of wet-wipes, gunpowder, and his own undefinable scent.

_Bucky._

‘Lily,’ He graveled close to my ear. ‘Lily.’ He sounded as overwhelmed as me, if that were possible. His left arm remained below my hips to support me, but his right couldn’t seem to settle, needing to touch every inch of me that he could. 

‘Bucky,’ I nearly cried. ‘You’re here, you’re here—‘

‘God, Lily—‘ Bucky shook in my arms. ‘You smell like home.’

Home?

You could have knocked me over with a feather, if I was standing up. Inwardly I reeled.

‘H-home?’ my voice wavered and I couldn’t stop myself from clutching him even tighter to me. I’d been thinking of him as ‘home’ for so long now, even when he was gone. It was hard to go ‘home’ when ‘home’ was who knows where in the world. But that was because I loved him, wanted him to be my home—

‘Lily, I’m so sorry, so sorry I left, so sorry I didn’t—didn’t’ Bucky gripped me tighter and I might have to suffer bruises tomorrow but I didn’t care. I didn’t care! It meant Bucky was here—Bucky—

He pulled back from me slightly and I whimpered and tried to hold him closer but he was stronger than me. He rested his forehead against mine and looked me straight in my eyes.

‘Lily. You’re home to me, everything about you, everything that you are—I can’t, I can’t even tell you what—‘ He closed his eyes and bit his lip, unable to go on. My heart was beating so fast I’m sure he could hear it—maybe even feel it from how tightly we were still pressed together. He took a steadying breath and I could feel it all through my own body.

‘Lily. I love you.’ He opened his eyes and I couldn’t doubt the depth of sincerity, fear, joy, and yes LOVE that I saw there. My breath stuttered in my lungs. ‘You’re my home and I can’t promise I’ll never leave again—but I swear to you on my life I will always come back. You’re what I want to come back to. What I need to come back to.’

I was full on crying now. How could I not? I tried to smile through my tears to show him that everything was okay, though.

Okay?

Hell with that!

‘Bucky,’ I forced my lungs to cooperate. ‘Bucky. I need you too. I love you—you’re home to me too. It wasn’t home when you were gone—‘ Incandescent joy filled Bucky’s face until I felt like I’d burn up from all that happiness. My right hand came up to cradle his face and I wiped away the single tear that dropped from his eye. We both laughed wetly and only a little hysterically as we pulled each other in tight again and buried our faces in the crooks of each other’s neck.

‘God, Lily. You smell so good.’ Bucky nuzzled his face into my hair.

‘You smell like you,’ was all I could say. It wasn’t a particularly nice smell at the moment, but it was Bucky.

He laughed. ‘No showers on the quin-jet. Had to make do.’

‘Don’t care,’ I said vehemently. ‘You’re _here_.’ 

‘I’m here,’ he whispered into my neck. ‘I’m here.’

‘I love you,’ I had to stay it again. Bucky shuddered and his arms tightened around me so much I couldn’t breathe. I patted his shoulder a little desperately.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ his arms loosened. ‘I love you, love you so much. I’m so sorry it took me this long, so sorry—‘

‘No, don’t.’ I protested. ‘I didn’t say anything either. Was too afraid I’d drive you away.’ I had been so afraid…

Bucky growled. ‘I was an idiot.’

Maybe. But then, so was I. ‘My Idiot,’ was what I said in reply.

Bucky growled again, the sound sending shivers through me. ‘Yours?’ The question made me hopeful. Made me brave.

‘Mine.’

Bucky didn’t crush my ribs this time, but it was a close thing.

Hey mikey, I think he likes it.

He pressed his lips to the side of my neck and I shivered again. They were warm and soft and all I could feel.

‘Mine,’ Bucky said possessively, and I _shuddered_ even harder than I had before. 

Oh yeah. That was a thing now. A thing I was fully on board with.

‘Yours,’ I gasped, and he rumbled approvingly as he stroked his lips gently against the side of my neck again.

Oh God. I don’t ever need anything else in my life but this. _Just this._

Bucky rumbled again, this time with a touch of amusement to it.

‘We’ve drawn a crowd.’

I instinctively clamped my arms around him and grumbled. Noooo, don’t want to move…

Bucky laughed, starting out soft and then shifting to a full on chortle as he swung me around in a circle where we stood. ‘Bucky!’ I giggled into his shoulder.

‘Come on,’ He said, his voice like sunshine and happiness. ‘We’ve given them enough of a show. And I think your friends’ eyes are about to pop out of their heads.’ He said mischievously as he loosened my legs and slid me down his body, every inch of us coming into contact. 

I’d honestly forgotten about the entire rest of the bar. When I’d seen Bucky it had all flown away until we were the only people in the entire world. There had been no sounds, no sights, no smells but our own. I was reluctant to rejoin the rest of humanity and to separate from Bucky, but it was clear he didn’t want to separate either. He kept a firm grip on me with one hand, and with the other lifted a heavy duffle off the floor where I hadn’t even noticed it laying.

‘Introduce me,’ Bucky whispered in my ear, leaning in close over my back.

Introduce you? Much rather leave right now and go _Home_ , but okay. Introductions. I can do those. 

My classmates were only three steps away, their mouths open in shock and their eyes were indeed bugging out fit to pop. I smiled happily at them, feeling light and dizzy with joy. I could almost fly, I felt so free.

‘Hey guys, this is Bucky. Bucky, this is Monica, Jamira, and Ana.’ I waved in turn to each one. They waved dazedly back. 

‘Pleasure to meet you,’ Bucky drawled, his body tight against my back. ‘I hope you’ll forgive me for stealing your friend, but we haven’t seen each other in a while and I would appreciate the chance to catch up with her.’

Bucky’s charm was turned up to 11 and my classmates didn’t know what hit them. They were nodding even before he finished speaking and Monica passed me my purse where it had been sitting next to my seat.

‘I’m sorry for cutting out early guys,’ no I wasn’t, ‘but I’ll see you next week, yeah?’ I said as I slung my purse over my shoulder, Bucky adjusting the strap so it lay flat against me.

‘Uh, yeah—sure! Great.’ Jamira was the first to recover, her shock melting into incredulity and good humor. ‘See you next week.’ 

‘Bye,’ I waved at the other two. They waved back, but didn’t seem to be able to say anything else. I could feel Bucky smirking behind me as he pulled me away toward the door, one possessive hand around my waist.

I was _his._

He was _mine._

I leaned into him as much as I could and still walk. He took my weight easily, our bodies rolling against each other in a smooth motion with no space between us.

Not anymore.

We made it out to the parking lot under the curious and slightly scared stares of the bar. Well, Bucky certainly knew how to make an impression. I grinned and chuckled to myself.

‘What’s so funny?’ Bucky asked, his head turned toward me as we walked to my car.

‘I was just thinking, you certainly know how to make an entrance. Everyone in that bar was terrified of you.’

‘Everyone?’ Bucky stopped and spun me around to face him. I was breathless. Happy. _In love._

‘Well, not maybe everyone…’ I pretended to think it over.

‘Hmm,’ Bucky rumbled. ‘Maybe…there was one person?’

‘Oh that’s hard…’ I teased. ‘I mean, there might have been—‘

Bucky’s grin was sharp and dangerous as he stepped into my space forcing me backwards until I was pressed against my car. My hands were on his ribs and I gripped the fabric of his shirt desperately, hoping to ground myself or I really might explode—poof!—no more Lily—

Bucky wasn’t helping. He leaned in close, his nose just barely brushing the skin under my jaw. My head fell back with a thunk against the car. I didn’t feel it. All my attention was focused on Bucky and what he was doing to my body, every small touch that sent rockets of sparks through my system.

Warning, warning: explosion imminent.

‘How about now?’ He whispered, and it took me a second to remember what we’d been talking about. Oh bother—

‘Mm,’ I sighed. ‘Don’t think anyone’s terrified of you here.’

‘No?’ Bucky nuzzled gently at my neck again, causing me to shiver.

‘No,’ I said weakly. ‘I—I love you—‘

An absolutely wrecked noise tore itself out of Bucky’s throat and he left off teasing me to gently cradle my head in his hands as he pressed his forehead to mine and softly rubbed his thumbs up and down against my cheeks. ‘Lily—‘ he gasped, and my name has never sounded so good.

I had to swallow hard. ‘Bucky…’ his thumbs kept moving up and down my cheeks, up and down, up and down…my knees were weak and I could barely stand but Bucky’s weight kept me pressed against the car. It felt like heaven.

‘Lily,’ Bucky whispered this time, his face drawing closer to mine, slowly, so slowly…

Our lips met softly and slid against each other slowly and easily. My head whirled and I let out a shaky moan so quiet even I could barely hear it. Bucky pressed our lips together firmly for a moment before drawing back, the both of us panting heavily.

‘ _Bucky_ ,’ I said desperately. That was one _hell_ of a first kiss.

‘Lily,’ Bucky said raggedly. ‘Love you. Love—‘

Our second kiss was shorter but even more explosive than the first. I could feel his every emotion like it was mine to experience. His desperate love and joy that flamed inside of him and set his skin ablaze. It set me on fire too and I burned happily in his arms.

When that kiss ended we still couldn’t pull apart completely, our arms stayed wrapped around each other as we made desperate motions to get closer, even closer—

It was torture. It was bliss. It was everything I ever dreamed of and nothing I ever thought to have.

Eventually we both snorted with laughter at the futility of it and the tension eased into something more bearable. I bumped my forehead against his chest. He kissed the top of my head. We both breathed deeply and exhaled slowly.

Okay. We were both okay.

‘Love you,’ I had to whisper to him again. Now that I could say it I wasn’t ever going to stop. 

‘Love you,’ Bucky whispered back. His hands stroked up and down my arms as he stepped back, smiling ruefully at my moue of disappointment. ‘Home?’ He asked, his voice low and sure.

‘Home,’ I agreed, and I knew what he meant but I also knew what I meant, so I smiled widely as we got into the car.

Home was Bucky. 

And he was here. And after so long alone I was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! First of all THANK YOUUUUU!!!!! Thank you for your kudos, your comments, your views. Thank you for coming along this ride with me, for patiently (or not so patiently, ha!) waiting when life interfered and slowed me down. Writing this has been an utterly amazing experience and it’s all thanks to you—all of you who read this story and gave me a reason to keep writing it.
> 
> I started writing it just after Winter Soldier came out—like many of us, I was utterly destroyed by that movie and I just needed more. So I started writing my first fanfiction ever and two years later (?!) it’s finally over. I knew it would be long but I never expected it to be novel-length. Crazy, huh?
> 
> For those of you who are wondering—yes, there will be more Bucky and Lily adventures, but not very many, and more in the nature of quick one-shots that I’ll post when I have time. I’ve made Sanctuary into a series so you can follow that (or me!) if you want updates. I have other fics I want to write too, and I hope you’ll give them a chance as well. 
> 
> But what I most want to start writing now that this story is no long running my life, is an original fic. It’s a sci-fi novel and it’s big and grand and small and personal and sure to drive most people to tears of sadness and laughter. I hope. ‘fingers crossed.’ I have it planned out but I just need to write it. I should have spent the last year writing that instead of this, but…oh well. I’m happy anyway. :D
> 
> I mention this because I’m hoping some of you might be willing to beta read/cheerlead that original fic. Honestly, sometimes it was only your comments and kudos that kept me going in such a timely manner on this story, and I could really use something like that for my original fic. I know AO3 isn’t the place to post something like that, but if you’re willing to read an original story then come over to my Tumblr (username: forbothareinfinity) where you can private message me your e-mail and I can add you to that list. I love AO3 for many reasons, but I do wish there was a private messaging system here! Ah well.
> 
> Again, and in conclusion, THANK YOU!! I have had so much fun writing this story, and I have been so grateful for your response to it. As Civil War draws near I pray that God has mercy on all our souls, and I look forward to seeing what fandom comes up with next. :D Love you all!
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE 8/22/16:  
> Over on Fanfiction.net Bruh has written a continuation story of the Sanctuary 'verse! So exciting!   
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12114390/1/Sanctuary-and-Safe-Harbour


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